


As the Shadow Arrives

by DawnsEternalLight



Category: DCU (Comics), Super Sons (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Blood, Bravery, Cave in, Clark Kent is a Good Dad, Damian's going to help him, Eventual Happy Ending, Fear, Fear gas, Fluff, Gen, Injury, Jon has a lot of insecurities to work out, Nightmares, Trapped, fear toxin, kind of, lots of misadventures in Gotham, manchester black - Freeform, really creepy ooze, referenced creepy ooze, slight AU, super powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-09 13:58:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11670486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Jon thought he was over being afraid after his run in with Manchester Black. When he and Damian run into trouble in Gotham he realizes that assumption was wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the slight AU/ Canon divergence Superman/Supersons fic no one asked me to write. Basically I wanted to see more of Jon dealing with fear and decided that the Manchester Black story was good enough to use to explore it. Everything takes place after Superman 25, but you don't need to be caught up with comics to read this.

Jon was in the barn when he found it. He was, boxing up the last of his outdoor things, including his basketball, glove, and an assortment of things deemed ‘too dangerous to be inside the house’. He lifted his basketball and found one of his dad’s wrenches behind it. When he lifted it to replace it on the shelf, he found the bottom sticky with a familiar black goo.

He’d never forget that goo. Nothing could wipe the memories of Manchester Black and the pain he'd caused from Jon’s mind. He was sure he'd always recognize that black ooze when he saw it. There was something different about it that set it apart from a moldy mess or something sweet he might have let melt in the heat too long. Looking at it made Jon’s skin crawl with remembrance at being coated in the stuff.

The wrench fell from his hand as he jumped back almost half the length of the barn. His eyes locked on the silver metal and the inky substance attached to it. He knew he had nothing to be afraid of. Black was gone, locked away in his dad’s fortress, his mind gone far enough Jon had heard the words ‘catatonic’ and ‘vegetable’ used to describe him. And the remaining ooze they’d cleaned up after the fighting was over had been inert. Creepy, but harmless.

Neither the ooze nor the wrench moved and Jon decided it was safe to inch back towards it. As he did so, he snatched one of the rags he'd been using to clean, along with one of his mom’s mason jars still sitting out. He wiped the goop off the wrench and shoved the rag into the glass container in his hand before securing the lid on it, making sure it was sealed tightly.

Jon put the jar in his box along with his basketball and hoisted the whole thing into his arms to carry back to the house. He had to take it back to his dad. As innocent as it seemed, Jon didn't trust the stuff. He wasn't even sure how it had survived his mother’s intense cleaning or Batman’s sweep of their land, but it had, and he needed to deal with it.

He carried it back to the house, shifting the box to one hand so he could open the front door and walk inside. He used his foot to guide the door closed behind him before setting the box on the floor by the door. Both his parents had been packing upstairs, so he ran, taking the steps two by two before bolting down the hall and skidding into his parent’s room. His mother was in the middle of wrapping one of her jewelry boxes in newspaper, but stopped to turn to him.

“Where’s Dad?” Jon asked.

His mom pointed at their bathroom. “He stepped in there to take a call. What’s up? I thought you were packing?”

“I was but I found--” Jon stopped as the door to the master bathroom opened and his dad walked out.

“Jon, did your mom call you up here?” He asked.

Jon shook his head. “I came because I have something to show you.” he answered.

Clark nodded. “And I’ll look at it, but that was Robin. He’s asked for your help tonight, and I told him yes. I thought you might like a break from all this packing.” His dad gave him a wide knowing smile that pulled a matching one from Jon.

The temptation to say yes and forget about the ooze was strong. It was sealed, the top of the jar smooth and unpopped, and it was supposed to be inert. Telling his parents about it could wait until he was done helping Damian, besides what if his friend needed him right away? He didn’t have time to worry over something that had been sitting in his barn doing nothing for weeks.

“Go on, Jon. We’ll be fine without you.” his mom said.

* * *

Jon ended up in the Batcave standing next to a Damian, dressed fully in his Robin costume except for his domino and cape. They were waiting on something, what Jon couldn’t tell.

When he’d arrived, Damian had looked over him once, said, “Good, now we wait.” Then fell into silence.

Jon waited a moment, but all Damian did was cross his arms and stare at the cave’s elevator with a look of worry. At least Jon guessed it was worry, he’d never seen Damian worried before. It was odd, Damian didn’t worry, not to Jon’s knowledge at least. Yet here his friend was, staring at a set of metal doors and rapidly tapping foot.

“Damian.” Jon tried, but was stopped by a gloved hand.

“I am giving him another minute.”

Him? Was Damian talking about his dad? Were they waiting on information from him before they got started on the case. Jon wasn’t sure that was right. Damian’s dad might scare most people, but Jon was sure there was no reason for Damian to be worried about him showing up.

The elevator began to rumble and Jon refocused on it. The answer to his question would step out of there in just a moment.

A man Jon hadn’t seen before stepped out and over to them. He was tall and fit, with dark messy hair and blue eyes. He wore a smile that turned blinding when he saw Damian. Jon glanced at his friend to find the worried look on Damian’s face changed out for a scowl.

“You’re late, Grayson.”

Jon racked his brain for a Grayson. Of all Batman’s associates, he couldn’t remember his dad talking about a man by that name or nickname. The man obviously knew Damian, and Batman or he wouldn’t be in the cave and Damian would have addressed him with a cooler tone.

“I would have been down faster if you’d told me you were inviting a friend tonight.” his tone was a gentle chide that Damian seemed to completely ignore with an eyeroll. He held his hand out to Jon, “You must be Superboy, Damian’s told me a lot about you. I’m Dick.”

Dick. Grayson. Jon felt silly for not realizing it sooner. He was the first Robin, now Nightwing, and from what Damian had said, his favorite of his brothers. He wondered why Damian called him by his last name. He’d called Jon, Kent for a while, but he’d thought Damian’s move to using his first name had been his friend warming to him.

Jon took his hand and shook it, “Hello, Mr. Nightwing, or Grayson or umm...” Jon trailed off, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Dick chuckled. “You can call me Dick, or Mr. Grayson if you have to.”

He let his eyes slide over to Damian. What had his friend been so worried about? His brother didn’t seem to be angry, and neither of them had said anything about urgent matters so why?

“Thanks, Mr. Grayson. Damian talks about you all the time too, you're like, his favorite person.”

“Jon!”

Dick chuckled and ruffled Damian’s hair, the other kid swatting his hand away just as quickly. “Don’t worry, Lil’ D, he didn’t spill any state secrets. Everyone knows I’m your favorite.”

Damian’s scowl deepened. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“What was?” Jon asked. Maybe now he’d find out what had his friend so upset earlier.

“This.” Damian said, throwing his hands out at both Jon and Dick. “You two. Meeting.” He pointed at Jon.

“That’s what this was all about?” Jon asked, mouth agape. Had Damian really been worried that Jon might not like his brother? Or that Dick wouldn’t like him? It was so normal Jon almost didn’t believe it.

“Tt.” Damian crossed his arms. “I did you a favor, tonight. Or would you rather be back on the farm packing?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “I am grateful, Damian, but my dad said you had a case.”

“Well there’s nothing specific tonight, just regular patrol.” Dick said, stepping over to the computer. “I’m glad Damian asked you to come along. He said you two have been training together. I think this will be a good time to see someone else in action.” Dick winked at him.

Jon smiled. “With everything Damian’s said about you I’d love to work with you tonight.”

* * *

Jon was almost certain that Nightwing was showing off, and had been all night. He also didn’t care. Watching the older vigilante fight was like being at a show. He was graceful, and funny, and never seemed surprised by anything. Everything Damian had said about him was turning out to be true, and Jon wasn’t afraid to admit he was star struck.

They were on their way to stop a robbery down by the pier. Robin and Jon were hanging back, so Nightwing could keep an eye out for the robbers. Jon flying beside Robin as the other boy swung across buildings.

“Keep your eyes on where we’re going, Superboy.” Robin said from beside him.

Jon shot him a grin. “I can’t help being distracted, your brother is so cool.”

Robin tutted from beside him. “Of course, he is. He had to be in order to take over the role of Batman.”

“Really?” Jon asked, they were crossing a roof now “You didn’t tell me that.”

Robin shrugged. “We still have a lot to learn about each other. But yes, he took over for Father when he was lost in time. That was when I became Robin.”

“Ohh origin story.” Jon teased. “I kind of got accidentally pulled into it.”

Beside him his friend chuckled. “I’m not surprised.”

“Hey, you promised my mom you’d be nice.” Jon said, but there was no heat in his reminder.

It wasn’t surprising. Jon was still a novice compared to Damian. He’d heard bits and pieces of his friend’s childhood and he knew Damian had been exposed to danger much earlier than Jon himself had. He didn’t stumble into anything, while Jon ended up toted along most of the time. He was working to change that, and learning quickly, but that didn’t make up for lack of experience in the field.

“I was being nice.” Robin shot him a grin. “Your parents were intent on keeping you safe for as long as possible, stumbling in was your best option.”

Jon hummed in agreement as they stopped. Nightwing leaned over the edge of the roof to look down at the scene below.

“What now?” he asked, leaning next to the older vigilante.

“Now, we stop a robbery.”

Jon’s eyes were on Nightwing as all three of them moved together. He hadn’t lied to Damian, his brother really was cool. He’d heard his dad talk about Dick and their team ups before. That, added to what Damian had to say about the man, was enough to make Jon want to try his best. Not just his best, but better than that. His powers had been developing, and since Manchester’s interference and his parent’s loosening their restrictions on his powers he felt like he’d gotten a better grip on them. What better time would he have to stretch them and really show off?

The thugs inside the warehouse were b-listers at best. Jon and Damian could have taken them out on their own, no Nightwing involved, and still had an easy time of it. Jon was having fun, he was pushing his powers to the limit that could be achieved there. Flying, invulnerability, super strength, and heat vision when he needed it. Everything was going great.

Then a new group of men crashed in, led by a man wearing a straw mask who carried a scythe. The mouth of his mask stitched closed with huge black lines, the eyes gaping holes. Jon was sure he was the leader.

Jon was the closest, and the fastest with Nightwing and Robin on the other side of the room. He could take the guy down, he knew that. He shot down from where he’d been hovering, Nightwing’s voice at his back shouting a warning, it was too late for Jon to pull back. The sudden fear at Nightwing’s worry sent a shock through Jon, and his flight shorted out, sending him tumbling to the ground a foot away from the villain.

He sat up, straight into a cloud of gas. He coughed and tried to wave it away. It tasted bad on his tongue and burned his throat. His waving did nothing, so he used his super breath to blow it back towards the ringleader.

The man in front of him cackled, his voice like a screech. He was so much bigger than Jon remembered. He held his scythe above his head, ready to slice down at Jon. He tried to jump up, to fly out of the way, but his body was heavy like he was weighed down with stones. Terror raced through him, sending his heart racing. It wasn’t like he couldn’t take an attack from the scythe, as long as his invulnerability lasted. He wasn’t sure it would though, everything felt like it was shutting down, and not just his powers.

Someone was at his arm, dragging him up and away, his eyes flashed over to see Robin next to him, a clear mask over his mouth and nose. The gas was a problem then, and probably why he Jon’s thoughts were so messed up all of a sudden.

Jon scrambled back as Robin let him go, moving in front of him in a protective stance. His breathing was rapid fire as he watched Robin fight with the man, who’d somehow shrunk down to the size he remembered from before he’d fallen.

Robin dodged the scythe with ease, but Jon couldn’t stop thinking that any moment now Damian was going to get hit and it would be his fault. Damian didn’t have any powers, he just had a thin uniform to protect him from the razor-sharp metal being swung at him.

Then it happened. Robin’s foot slipped. Jon could see it happen before it did. He could have been fast enough, should have been fast enough to stop it from happening and he wasn’t his feet wouldn’t move, his body rooted to the spot he was sitting. Then Robin took the attack in the side, the scythe cutting through kevlar like paper and slicing deep into his friend. Blood sprayed back at Jon coating him and the scythe in bright rivulets. He looked down at his hands, painted in his friend’s blood and screamed. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad for leaving everyone with such a cliffhanger in the first chapter, so instead of waiting have the next one right away.

Damian should have seen the attack coming and he hadn’t. At least he’d caught on fast enough to mitigate the damage, catching the scythe partially on his gauntlet and stopping the weapon from piercing him too deeply. It cut through both the gauntlet and a weak spot in his uniform slicing skin but didn’t hit bone. Damian’s right side burned, but not so bad he couldn’t move. He pulled away and ducked using the momentum from being lower to spin and knock Crane down, his scythe skidding across the floor.

They’d had no idea Scarecrow was going to be there, as far as Damian knew, Crane was still supposed to be in Arkham after the last time his father stopped him. He wouldn’t have invited Jon if he’d had any idea he’d escaped. Jon wasn’t prepared, he had no idea who Scarecrow was or what he could do, and he’d paid for it almost immediately.

Seeing Superboy hit by the Scarecrow’s gas had sent its own kind of terror through Damian. He wasn’t entirely sure how Jon was going to react to it, especially unprepared.

From behind him Superboy started to scream. Damian looked behind him to find his friend staring down at his own hands, yelling and rubbing them together like he could wipe away whatever he thought he was seeing despite them being completely clean. Damian wanted to reach out, he knew the feeling of being swamped by overwhelming terror, especially when unprepared for it. Jon had no idea what he was seeing wasn’t real, he didn’t even know fear gas existed, so there wasn’t a voice in his mind to whisper relief at the possibility what he was seeing was false.

Instead he moved back on Crane, who’d recovered enough to drag himself towards his scythe again. Damian stepped forward and kicked the scythe further out of reach before turning his attention on the man who’d dropped his friend into terror. He knocked Crane unconscious as Superboy’s screams turned to pleading, and secured him a moment before Nightwing’s voice attempted to cut through the fear in Jon’s with gentle murmuring and words of comfort.

“Robin, do you think you can hold him long enough for me to get a shot of antidote in him?” Nightwing asked when he saw Damian moving towards them.

He nodded. “Maybe. If we’re lucky he’ll be too afraid to have proper control of any of his powers.”

Damian inched towards Jon who finally caught sight of him. His face fell, and large tears formed in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I couldn’t help. I didn’t mean to let him hurt you, I just couldn’t move.”

“Superboy, it’s ok.” Damian said, swallowing. “I’m alright, whatever you think you saw isn’t real.”

He must have thought Damian had lost the fight with Crane, all while Jon had looked on. Damian had faced that fear enough times to know his words probably weren’t helping. It wasn’t until the toxin was gone and he could see, hear, and feel whoever he’d thought he’d failed that the real fear started to go away.

Superboy nodded but caught sight of Damian’s arm, before dropping to the wound cutting across the side of his ribs, both bleeding freely. Jon stepped back, mouth dropping open into a gasp. His breathing came rapid fire, and he started hovering just slightly off the ground.

“No. No, that shouldn’t have happened. That didn’t, it couldn’t. You have to be ok. I didn’t mean to, I didn’t, I should have, I-I-I-”

Touching someone under the influence of fear gas was always risky. Even if they seemed subdued there was always the chance that physical contact could change the fearscape or make what they were currently seeing worse. Still, Damian had to distract him long enough for his brother to get an antidote in him, and he had to do it soon or risk his own injuries making it hard to help if Jon got any worse. He reached out and took Jon by the shoulders.

“Jon, look at me, I’m ok. Alright? You’re under the influence of something called fear gas, it makes everything look worse than it is.”

Jon’s eyes were locked on his own, but kept darting down Damian’s right side. Wide as saucers and wet with the sheen of tears, but he’d stopped babbling, and he’d landed. Plus, he wasn’t throwing Damian off him, so maybe his words were getting through at least a little bit.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nightwing reach out and pull one of Superboy’s arms towards him. Under his hands Damian could feel his friend tense. “You are going to be ok, you’re stronger than this.” he said, hoping his voice was enough to prevent any kind of jerk reaction to the needle.

“I’m sorry.” Jon’s voice was a whisper, his free hand going to one of Damian’s. “I should have jumped in front of you. It wouldn't’ have hurt me.”

Jon’s tears were starting again, but Nightwing had finally gotten the needle in his arm so Damian let him keep talking. “You're only human, I forget that, and you got hurt, and it’s my fault.” The tears were bigger now, Jon’s chest having. “It’s all my fault.” he sobbed out.

“It’s ok.” Damian told him. “Let’s get you out of here so you can rest.” he said. Now that he’d made contact he didn’t want to let go, and Jon seemed happy enough to let him lead them out of the building.

He stayed calm long enough for them to get him back to the cave. Damian wondered what exactly his friend was seeing that had him so broken up he just let them lead him around. Or is that how he reacted to fear? Freezing up wasn’t an uncommon, but Damian still found himself wary that something else might happen before the antitoxin had time to kick in.

On the way back they’d decided to call Clark. Neither Damian nor Dick were equipped to deal with Jon if his powers started going haywire because of the toxin, and Father was out of the country on both Wayne Enterprise and Batman business making him too far away to call for help. Besides, having his father with him would be more help to Jon than either Damian or Dick could be.

While Grayson called Clark, Damian sat next to the gurney they’d laid Jon on, refusing to move until he was sure his friend was alright. Jon had fallen asleep soon after they got him back, a good sign the antidote was kicking in. Damian hoped the Kryptonian part of Jon was speeding the process and burning out the toxin. He’d never heard of Superman having to deal with fear toxin, but he was fairly sure it wouldn’t have as severe an effect on him as it did humans.

He hated to see his friend hurting. His intent for the night had been to have fun and get Jon out of packing. Jon was always asking him when he could meet his brothers and Damian had thought that Grayson filling in for Father would be the perfect time to introduce them. That way the three of them could patrol together and have an easy night. This was not turning out to be an easy night.

Clark was there almost as soon as Grayson got off the phone. Damian scrambled away from his seat by the cot to let him take his spot. Guilt washing over him as he stepped back and away. Clark brushed a hand over Jon’s forehead, pushing his loose curls back.

“If I’d known about Crane, I wouldn’t have called tonight.” Damian said.

“It’s alright.” Clark hadn’t turned to him, but his voice was gentle. For a moment Damian thought he was talking to Jon, but then he glanced back to look at Damian, “We can’t predict everything.” Damian nodded and Clark turned back to his son.

With Clark there to look after Jon, Damian allowed Grayson convince him to let Alfred look at his injuries. He’d taken only the time needed to apply a hasty bandage earlier, with Jon being the biggest of his worries.

He submitted with the barest of arguments as Alfred sat him on the cot next to Jon’s. He wouldn’t cause any more trouble than he already had that evening. Despite what Clark had said Damian felt responsible for everything that had happened that night. It didn’t matter that they’d been with Nightwing or that he ‘couldn’t predict everything’. He should have been more aware of the police scanners, and the news. Instead he’d been too excited to introduce his friend and brother. Now he was hurt and Jon was dealing with fear toxin. He couldn’t forgive himself for the oversight, even if Superman already had.

“The suit is beyond replacing, I’m afraid.”

Damian blinked, his attention returning to Alfred, had he zoned out? He must have lost more blood that he’d thought. He let out a shaky tutt, “Next time I will endeavor to avoid tangling with scythes.”

“Be sure you do.” Alfred said, giving him a gentle smile. “Now let’s get you out of that.”

He went to pull off both his suit and the light top he wore underneath. He winced as Alfred had to pull the fabric from the partially dried blood. As Alfred cleaned the blood away neither of the cuts were revealed to be as deep as they could have been, eliciting a relieved sigh from the older man. It was all the time he gave either of them before he began the process of numbing the skin on both Damian’s wounds. He’d had enough time to prepare sutures and antiseptic while Damian had been worrying over Jon, so the moment he was numb Alfred moved to begin stitching.

“I’m sorry.” Damian mumbled as Alfred stitched him up. Even so, his eyes were on Jon, still sleeping peacefully with his Father’s hand wrapped in his smaller one.

“I’m happy nothing worse happened.” Alfred said. He finished tying off the last suture on Damian’s side and moved to work on his arm.

“This shouldn’t have happened in the first place.” Damian said, letting his bitterness bleed into his words. Then quieter. “It’s my fault, Pennyworth. If I’d been paying any attention tonight we wouldn’t be here.”

“You were protecting your friend. I cannot see how that is either deserving of blame or the need to apologize.” Alfred said then looked up at him, “He will understand.”

Damian pressed his lips together and nodded. Jon was one of the most forgiving people he knew, but fear gas was terrible. Damian wouldn’t wish it on most people, let alone Jon. His friend was bright and innocent, the opposite of Damian in almost every way, and it was his fault he’d been touched by the darkness that came with Gotham.

“Perhaps.” he said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone gets to feel guilty this chapter.

Jon dreamed of laughing scarecrows, who peeled themselves from their stands in a field and wielded bloody scythes. Of falling out of the sky and his family dead because he couldn’t get his heat vision to work. Of Damian furious with him for failing, leaving him stranded and on his own. Of Nightwing and Batman’s fury that Jon had let Damian die.

He woke up with a shout, a plea, and a beg for forgiveness pulling itself from his throat. He saw black that slowly focused into cave and his dad leaning over him, a hand on his head.

“Hey, Jonno. Welcome back.”

“Dad? What’s going on?” He pushed himself up, his dad bracing his back.

He was on a cot in the Batcave. Beyond the rustle of Batcow, and the click of a keyboard the cave was peaceful. Something in his head told him that the peace wasn’t right. He couldn’t put this finger on what was wrong, but he knew there was a problem.

Jon tried to lean around his dad to see the rest of the room. If he saw everything he might be able to figure out what was bothering him. But his dad kept leaning over to keep Jon’s eyes on him.

“How are you feeling, kiddo?” There was something careful about his smile.

Panic rushed Jon, his heartbeat picking up with worry, “Where is Damian?” He tried harder to look around his dad, but he put a hand out to stop Jon, only making his panic worsen. “Dad, where’s Damian?”

His brain didn’t give his dad time to answer, supplying the answer on its own. He was seeing Damian getting torn open again, feeling his blood spray over him. Jon thrust his hands in front of his face, they were clean, but Jon could feel the weight of his friend’s blood on them. He couldn’t breathe. His dad wasn’t letting him see anything beyond his own face, and his friend had been seriously wounded the last time he’d been conscious.

“He’s dead isn’t he? He’s dead, and it’s my fault. I was too slow.” The words poured out of him in a rush as Jon’s chest heaved and realization swamped him, tears blinding him to his father’s far too careful face, his own words muffling anything Clark might be saying. “I was too slow, I couldn’t move, my powers shorted because of my fear.” He was sobbing.

“Jon, Jon.” His dad’s hands were on his shoulders, and Jon let his mouth snap shut. He hoped comfort was the next thing to come from his dad. He wanted to bury himself in his chest and forget about everything.  

“Damian’s ok. You were drugged.” his dad explained.

“Drugged?” Jon frowned. “How? When?” he shook his head. “I couldn’t have been, Dad. I saw—” the words caught in his throat. “I watched Robin get hurt.”

His dad shook his head. “You ran into a man named Scarecrow, has Damian told you anything about him?”

Jon shook his head, Damian hadn’t, but he had heard things about the villain. “He uses fear as a weapon right? He’s got some kind of gas. Is that what I breathed tonight?”

Clark nodded. “That’s right, Dick doesn’t think it was a very strong does. Scarecrow hadn’t been expecting you guys.”

Then everything he’d seen had been wrong. The sick feeling coiling in Jon eased some. Damian wasn’t dead, he wasn’t hurt, and he wouldn’t hate Jon for messing up. They could still work together and hang out.

“Did they get him?” He asked.

“Yeah, he’s been returned to Arkham.” His dad sat down on the edge of Jon’s bed, and brushed a hand through his hair. “I’m glad your feeling better.”

Jon nodded. “Where’s Damian? I want to see him, I—” he hesitated. “I need to know he’s ok.”

Clark brushed his hair back again. “Of course.” He glanced behind him. “Damian?”

Had he been waiting there the whole time? Jon swallowed, had he heard Jon’s freak out? Was he actually mad at him for letting himself get drugged? Jon gripped one hand with the other and nervously rubbed them together, unsure how to seem or react. How come Damian hadn’t said anything sooner, why hadn’t he been by Jon’s side?

All his questions disappeared the moment his friend stepped into view. He was shirtless, white bandages wrapped around his torso and one of his arms. Jon moved to jump off the bed, and his dad’s hand stopped him. He turned to him.

“You said he was fine. That he wasn’t hurt. He was, it was my fault.” Jon forgot how to breathe again, his chest flooding with the same fear he’d felt in the warehouse.

A hand fell on his shoulder, Damian’s and he dragged in a breath. “Jonathan, listen to me.” Jon’s eyes stopped their darting from his dad and friend to rest on Damian. He didn’t look angry, and if Jon didn’t know him better he might think it was pity or guilt in his friend’s face. As it was, he wasn’t sure how to categorize the look.

“Yes, I got hurt, but it was my own failure that resulted in it. I don’t blame you.” Damian’s voice was firm, their truth tried to sink into Jon. Except he didn’t want to believe them, or let them be a balm, this was his fault.

He shook his head. “You don’t understand. I could have helped, I could have protected you and I didn’t. I—it’s just like it was with Black again. I have the power and I couldn’t use it, and because of it people got hurt.”

“This is not your fault, kiddo.” His dad said. “No one got hurt because you didn’t do something.”

He turned to his dad and gave into the urge to fall into his chest, as much for the comfort as it was so Damian wouldn’t see him cry. “But it was, Dad.” He hiccupped. “I was so scared, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even think to use my powers.”

Hands wrapped around him, tugging him closer. “It’s alright, Jon. You weren’t in control of the fear, no one’s blaming you for not being able to use your powers.”

Jon nodded into his dad’s chest. “You sure?” he asked. There was something about the warm comforting feeling of his dad’s hug that made him feel like he could accept the words. He still felt guilty, but it wasn’t overwhelming, and he wasn’t terrified of someone being mad at him.

“Completely.”

“K.” Jon murmured, pulling back. He scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand before he turned outwards again.

Damian had moved away, hopefully to give him privacy, and not because he was ashamed of having a friend like Jon. Dick was saying something to him, and giving him a pat on the shoulder. When he was done he looked up at Jon and smiled, walking over. Clark eased over to let Dick ruffle Jon’s hair.

“Sorry tonight went sour, Jon. Next time we’ll just do a movie or something, instead of bonding through battle.”

Jon gave a small laugh at his attempt at a joke. “It’s ok, the night wasn’t all bad.”

Dick’s smile wavered. “I am really sorry, Jon. If I’d realized tonight was going to be anything more than stopping a few clumsy thieves I would have left both you boys here.”

“Really, Mr. Grayson. It’s ok.” Jon looked down at his hands. “I should have listened to you when you were trying to warn me and pulled back or something. But I got too excited, and wanted to show off.”

“It’s ok. If it had been anyone but Scarecrow I’m confident you’d have been fine.” Dick told him then glanced at Clark, who nodded.

His dad stood from where he’d perched on the bed. “I’m going to talk to Dick for a bit and then we can head home for the night, how does that sound? Unless you want to stay here?”

Jon shook his head. “I’d rather go home.” he looked at Dick. “Sorry, Mr. Grayson.”

The other vigilante waved him away. “It’s alright, I’d want to do the same thing.”

With that they both moved towards the computer, his dad stopping for a moment to pat Damian on the shoulder and nodded towards Jon before he continued. Damian stepped back over to Jon’s side.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered, not looking at Jon.

Jon blinked at his friend. “Sorry? What for?”

Damian crossed his arms. “Tt. Isn’t it obvious?”

He shook his head. “No?”

Damian sighed and rolled his eyes over to Jon. “Really, Kent you are incorrigible. I am talking about tonight. It’s my fault you were here and were gassed with Crane’s toxin.”

Jon had to work to keep his jaw from dropping open. Damian was apologizing for the same thing Jon himself harbored guilt over. He thought the events of the night were his fault, not Damian’s, and yet here his friend was apologizing.

“But I’m the one who flew right into him. I didn’t listen to your brother’s warning.” He said. “I’m really the one who should be apologizing.”

Damian’s lips pressed into a line. “You only flew into him because I let you come. If I’d known he’d escaped I would not have put you in danger like that.”

Jon shook his head. “You weren’t putting me in danger, if anything I was safer than both you and your brother. It’s my fault because I was trying to show off.” Jon felt his face heat up.

“I was trying to prove myself, and I got you hurt.” His eyes flashed over the bandages wrapping his friend’s torso again.

Damian started to laugh. Jon thought he might be hallucinating again as he watched his friend’s face break into a rare smile. “D-Damian? What’s wrong? What did I say?”

“We’re trying to outdo each other for blame.” Damian said, “Perhaps we should agree to say we both made mistakes tonight? I will heal soon enough, and a good night’s sleep should finish what the antitoxin has already started in you.”

Jon let himself smile. “I think so.” He shifted so his legs were slung over the edge of the cot, his feet kicking lightly against one of the metal beams on it. “Thanks for being such a good friend. Sorry tonight didn’t go as planned.”

Damian shrugged. “Nights rarely go completely to plan. It could have been worse.”

Jon swallowed, the fear rushing back with a picture of his friend crumpling dead at his feet. Yes, it could have been worse.

He waited until he was back home, showered, changed, and over hugged by his mother to ask his dad about the rest of the fears tickling his mind.

“Hey, Dad?” He asked, as his dad was tucking him into bed.

He smiled, “Yeah?”

Jon tugged his comforter against his chin. “Do you ever get scared? Not for yourself, but for Batman or Mom?”

He couldn’t stop thinking about Damian getting hurt, or how his friend winced when Jon gave him a hug as they left. Damian always seemed immortal to Jon. It was silly, his friend was human, but he never acted like it. The way he walked, talked, and fought was that of a person who was more. Like his dad’s friends in the Justice League. Each of them moved that way because they had powers that kept them from being hurt as easily as Damian could be.

Damian didn’t have skin that was hard as iron. He didn’t have invulnerability that could stop bullets or super speed to move out of the way of danger. He didn’t even have super hearing. He was normal. A hundred percent normal.

Jon learned that the hard way that night. Even if parts of what he’d seen had been illusions made of toxin, Damian had been hurt. Skin had been broken, blood had been spilled, and he would be benched from patrol for a while. Because he was human.

His dad’s smile fell, “All the time.”

Jon pushed himself up from his bed. “What do you do about it?”

Clark crossed his arms and looked thoughtful for a moment before answering, “I remind myself that the best way to protect the people I love is not to let fear take over.”

“But what if you're so scared you can’t move? Or if you know that you can’t make it to them in time?” Jon asked, pulling his knees close to his chest.

His dad gave him a small smile. “Your mom, Batman, and Damian can all take care of themselves you know.”

Jon frowned, that wasn’t a proper answer to his question. His legs slid back down across the sheets. He opened his mouth to argue but his dad shook his head.

“It’s not our job to protect them all the time. Even Superman doesn’t have the power to protect every single person at the same time. It’s ok to trust those we love to take the right action. Especially the people you and I care about.”

“Even so, Jon. Sometimes people get hurt, especially people who do what we do. It’s scary, and tough, but I promise, your Mom and your friends know exactly what they’ve gotten themselves into.” His hand stopped to cup the back of Jon’s head, “None of them will blame you for something that happens to them. The best thing to do when your fighting is to face your fears and trust your partners to have your back.”

Jon nodded. “Your right. Thanks, Dad.”

Clark pressed a kiss into his hair. “Your welcome, son. Now you get some rest ok? Dick says it's the best way to shake any lingering effects from the gas.”

“Ok. I'll let you know if I need anything.” Jon said, as his dad walked towards his door.

“Good. Night Jon, I love you.”

“Love you too.” Jon said, and then his light was clicked off and his dad closed the door after him.

He waited a few minutes to make sure his dad was out of the hallway before clicking on the light on his phone and slipping out of bed.

He pulled his chair out from his desk and set the box from earlier on it. His mom had left it for him in case he had anything else he wanted to pack in it. Jon pulled the mason jar out and looked it over with beam from his phone. He felt a chill race up his spine at the sight of it. Memories were tied to that inky blackness, most of them bad. He swallowed down the churning unpleasant feeling that came with looking at it. Perhaps it was just an after affect of the fear gas this time and not the goop itself.

Nothing had changed about it, not physically at least. The rag was still wadded inside, the top of the jar still pressed in to indicate it was sealed. Even the direct beam from his light didn't affect it. Jon could face his fears. He was strong, so we're his friends and family. He didn't have to worry about them being breakable. Not as long as he was around. Black might have shown him everything he'd been afraid of, but he showed Jon something else about himself. He was strong, and if he did things the right way Jon could protect those he cared about.

He wrapped the jar in a few pairs of socks before tucking it back into the box. There was no need to tell his parents about the ooze, not when it was safe. No, Jon had a better idea for it. He'd put it up on his bookshelf when they moved. Batman kept trophies of his victories. Jon had looked over many of them in detail the times he'd been in the cave. He had beat Black. This ooze was a sign of his victory, not fear. No matter how looking at it chilled him. He'd put it up where he could see it, and remember every day how strong he was.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The question on everyone's minds is how long can the boys stay out of trouble. The answer is not very long at all.

Damian knew he was in over his head. Already the night’s escapades had his partially healed wounds throbbing, and all he’d done was tail a group of arms dealers across the city. His arm was alright, the gauntlet tight and firm enough to protect it from most of the stress he was putting his body through. But the constant rise and fall of his arms as he grappled through the city was pulling at the stitches running up his side, testing their strength and that of the tender skin beneath. It was frustrating, but not surprising.

He wouldn’t call Grayson for help. Neither could he call his other siblings. They all knew Damian was still technically supposed to be recovering. But he already felt he’d been off patrol too long. Especially when many times Father would go out a night or two after receiving a serious injury. So Damian had taken himself out after hearing about a weapon trafficking scheme. Everyone else was busy enough taking over Father's duties, making Damian hesitate to hand it over to them and add more to their plates.

It was supposed to be simple after all. But even Damian knew his bounds. The truckload of men who'd emptied into an abandoned subway station, and the increasing throbbing in his side easily painted a picture of his current limitations.

He decided to he call Jon. He was Damian's only option who wouldn’t rat him out to his family (the Titans would put him back in bed as fast as Grayson would, Starfire was relentless like that). Jon would not like his plan, but he would go along with it for the simple fact that being there meant he could keep Damian safe.

Though what Jon's sudden preoccupation with keeping him safe was, Damian didn't know. He’d been overprotective since their fight with Scarecrow. Jon had been in to check on him a lot the first few days he was recovering, and more since then. Every time he was over it was, don’t push yourself, let me get that for you, and why don’t we just stay inside today? He was almost as smothering as Grayson could get, and Damian didn’t need two smothering people in his life. One was enough.

He was starting to think that maybe Crane’s toxin had gotten to Jon more than he’d admitted to. It had been his friend’s first experience with it, and that was always the worst to shake. Damian had been patient with him, and gradually his smothering had eased to something Damian could stand without plotting a failing scheme that would ultimately send Jon home. He hoped part of it was Damian’s own convincing Jon he was fine, he knew from experience hearing his father or Grayson remind him they were ok helped ease fears that stuck in his mind.

Either way he was sure keeping him out of trouble was reason enough for Jon to stay by his side rather than informing on him that evening, especially if he made it clear he’d go in with or without his help.

It didn’t take long for Jon to arrive, hair mussed, and uniform half zipped up, from the flight and rush to get out of bed. Damian didn’t feel too bad about waking his friend. It was silly that he’d had to. Really, what proper superhero had a bedtime of ten o’clock anyway?

Jon straightened his jacket and zipped it as he looked at Damian. “You didn’t go in without me.” He said, surprised.

“Why would I?” Damian asked with a frown.”I asked you to come, it would be foolish to leave you behind.”

Jon scowled at him. “Because that’s what you do. You run into danger without thinking and you leave me behind whenever you think I’m being too slow. I was sure I’d get here and you’d be inside tearing open Alfred’s stitches and bleeding out.” He poked a finger into Damian’s chest, emphasising his point.

Damian swatted his friend’s hand away, “I don’t always leave you behind, I called you before running anywhere this time, didn’t I?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jon’s frown deepened. “Yeah, after you were already here and made it easy to threaten going in without me. Or backup.”

Damian shrugged. “If I’d called you from home you would have told Grayson or Pennyworth.”

“Rightfully so.” Jon poked him again, ignoring Damian’s second attempt to move his hand. “You shouldn’t even be out here, you're still recovering. I bet you only called me because that-” he aimed his finger at the slight bulge in Damian’s uniform. “is holding you back. And don’t you dare argue, I’ll know you’re lying, I can hear your heartbeat.”

He crossed his arms. “If I had any sense I’d fly you back home.”

“But you won't,” Damian countered, “because you're my friend, and you want to help people as much as I do.”

“I’m not going to,” Jon said, his tone one of lecture, “because you’ll put up a fight and hurt yourself worse than what might happen while fighting.”

Damian shrugged as if to say ‘whatever works for you’. He found his brain flustered for words at his friend’s worry. He expected it from Grayson, Cain, Brown, Duke, and his father. Even Todd and Drake could be counted on to get angry when Damian did something reckless like this, but they were family. He had learned that family worried like that. It was their duty to take care of each other. He and Jon were friends, and barely that sometimes. They worked together, fought, and made each other better in the field. Those bonds, as strong as they were, did not amount to the same kinds he shared with his family, and Damian was sure the same could be said of Jon and his own father.

Which put the worry, this far away from Jon’s fear gas exposure, as something to be looked at as real. Damian did not have a lot of experience overly worrying for his friends. He didn’t have a lot of people he could call friends. The Titans, nice as they were, were work. And Brown was more family than anything. The person he had the most experience with was Nobody. Maya Ducard, once enemy then partner, and finally- as she liked to say it- big sister. Theirs was a complicated relationship, and one that had been forged through more trial and tribulation than late nights spent saving kittens or watching movies. He could not compare the two, his relationship with her, and that with Jon.

Which left him confused on how to respond to the rightful anger and worry on his friend’s face. He chose, for the moment, to ignore it.

“So, are you going to help me, or will this lecture last all night while the bad guys get away?” he asked.

Jon scowled, and threw one hand out towards the building as if to say ‘lead the way’ before huffing, “Don’t do anything stupid tonight. I’d rather not be grounded any more than I already will be for this adventure.”

The two of them worked well together, even with Damian’s handicap and Jon’s irritation towards him. They managed to sneak in and take down almost half the men before being noticed, then cleared another half of those before the real trouble started. They’d been chasing the last three men through the subway, and further down into tunnels that branched off away from the tracks.

It had been slow going, but both Damian and Jon were sure they were still on the men’s trail, with no other paths branching off since they’d separated from the main area. Damian was keeping track of their location on a map on his lenses, so returning would be easy, but the deeper they went the worse his connection was getting and he was worried the gps link would cut out sooner rather than later.

They inched further down the tunnel as their lights flashed across a curve in the stone surrounding them. The tunnel had to be for maintenance, either that or it had been an abandoned project, only partially completed. Half the walls were still uneven stone, supported by bricking and uncovered metal beams.

At the sharp turn they found the tunnel branching off into two sections. The flash of a separate light in the left tunnel had both boys running for it, if they’d started to catch up it wouldn’t be long before they were on the men.

Damian turned down the passage blindly, his flashlight swinging in his hand as he hurried back. It was shorter than he’d realized as the beam suddenly caught a wall, rough and bulging out against either side of the hall beside them, an ending the tunnel. The light they’d seen from outside was a forgotten flashlight on the ground. Damian spun on his heel, a warning to Jon on his lips before there was a deafening boom. The ground beneath his feet started to shake with violent tremors as in front of him rocks began to crack and fall, crashing to the ground forcing Damian to throw a hand out to the wall next to him for balance.

His friend’s eyes went wide as he stared at him for a moment before he turned and they both bolted for the opening. Through a shower of rock and falling brick they could see one of the men they’d been chasing wave at them before darting down the other tunnel.

“Go!” Damian shouted at Jon, the passage was closing with every second and Damian knew he wasn’t fast enough to make it before the roof finished collapsing, but Jon could do it. He had the kind of speed that could get him, running or flying through the gap and out to safety. “Get out, and bring back help!”

In front of him his friend’s footsteps wavered for a second. Damian wanted to scream to tell him that staying back would do nothing, and their best option was for one of them to get out. Jon seemed to realize the same thing, he launched himself up and flew towards the exit.

Above Damian the top of the tunnel cracked, a deep gorge tearing it open and shaking free new pieces of brick and stone. He stumbled back and away from a boulder sized piece as it crashed. All around him now, pieces were breaking off, raining down thick dust, sending Damian into a coughing fit as it hit his lungs.

He tripped, his balance already bad from the shaking and tremors. His flashlight went flying from his hand as he fell backwards onto his bottom. The light skidded, spinning across the floor, before a brick landed on it. The plastic cracked and the light snapped out, dropping Damian into darkness. He tried to get up, but something hard and heavy crashed against his back, knocking the breath from his lungs and the balance from his shaky knees. His vision swam, and he blacked out.


	5. Chapter 5

Jon landed on the other side of a mountain of rubble. He pushed himself up to sit and coughed, hoping to free his lungs of some of the dust he’d inhaled while the rubble settled behind him.

He gave himself a second to orientate to his surroundings before the panic set in. He’d left Damian behind. He’d left him in a collapsing cave, to fend for himself while still recovering from an injury that was also Jon’s fault. What if he’d been crushed by a piece of the roof? Or not crushed but hurt? What if he was bleeding out just feet from Jon and there was nothing he could do to help?

No. Damian was prepared, he thought about everything. If he’d gotten hurt he would have something to at least stem the bleeding with. He could take care of any injuries while he waited for Jon to get him out. And Jon was going to get him out.

He pushed himself to his feet, his flashlight illuminating the changed corridor. Dust caught in the beam, dancing through, even as Jon swung it to light up the wall of rubble behind him. Stone and brick from the tunnel piled up like a tetris game gone horribly wrong. The rest of the walls seemed intact, with little cracking. Jon swung the light up to find the same thing. So the explosives had been rigged to trap them inside, and not collapse everything. At least there was that.

Still, Jon wasn’t sure the whole thing wouldn’t collapse inward if he tried to start moving rocks on his own. He knew he could do it, in an emergency. Push and pull everything out of the way in order to dig a hole for his friend, but he couldn’t be certain that wouldn’t make things worse. He had no idea what the other side looked like, if the rubble on his side was holding something dangerous up or if there even was still another side.

He swallowed, he wouldn’t think that way. Damian was fine, not buried under tons of earth. Right? Jon stared at the wall in front of him and narrowed his eyes, he had to see what was going on. His x-ray vision had been getting better with practice, but he couldn’t focus. He kept imagining he was going to see through it and find a bloody mess in place of his friend.

Everything he should have done flashed through his head. He shouldn’t have left Damian, he should have been there to protect him, to shield him from this happening. He was so breakable. Jon hated thinking that, but it was true. Damian could protect himself from a lot of things, but a shower of rubble wasn’t something he could handle beyond dodging. And he couldn’t dodge forever.

No he would not think that. He took a deep breath and cleared his mind, stilling his racing heart. He looked through the wall, layers of stone fading in that weird way it always did when he used this power. Too bad his x-ray vision didn’t come with night vision too. Jon couldn’t see past the rocks beyond vague lumps.

That was ok though, it meant there was a room beyond to get to. Jon angled his view up to make sure he didn’t see anything ready to fall. When he was sure moving the rubble wouldn’t smash his friend he pulled back, listening for sounds from inside. Slow breathing met his ears, and a faint heartbeat. It was too slow, too weak. Something was wrong. Who knew what had happened after he’d left him. Had he hurt his head? Was something pinning him down? Every possible scenario played itself over and over in Jon’s head. Looking and listening hadn’t helped, it had been a waste of time.

Jon didn’t have time to run off for help like Damian had told him to. He had to do something now or his friend could die. What could Nightwing or Red Hood do anyway to help him? They didn’t have super strength. He did, he could do this. He started at the top, hovering upwards to move the rocks from the top down.

* * *

Damian woke up in darkness. He groaned and reached up to click on his night vision, before struggling to sit up, rubble tumbled off his back and clattered to the ground around him leaving a deep ache in Damain’s ribs. Fire raced up his side and he groped at his side, his glove pulled away with a sticky squelch. That couldn’t be good for his stitches.

He took in a breath and coughed on dust. “Superboy?” he asked, then after a moment, “Jon?”

No answer, which meant Jon made it out. Good, he’d get him out, and even if he didn’t Jon was safe. He pushed himself against the still intact wall and let his head fall back.

How could he have been so stupid? The arms dealers had been too organized, even after he and Jon had shown up. He should have noticed the signs, how they knew exactly where to go in the tunnels, the lack of hesitation when breaking away from the subway line, and the trail they’d left. The whole time he and Jon had been running into a trap, and Damian had been too blind to realize it.

He’d been too eager to make up for his last mistake with Crane, pulling Jon back into Gotham earlier than either of them needed it, on a whim. His friend had been right when he told Damian that he liked to run into danger without thinking. Even if Damian’s own wording was slightly different. He’d wanted to prove himself, and this time proving himself meant deciding he was ready before he was, and dragging Jon out on a case he’d only learned the briefest of details for.

It had been stupid, and now he was paying for it. He coughed again, and his side reminded him exactly why it had been so stupid. He glanced over at the pile of rubble blocking the exit. His lenses showing the stones and pieces in an eerie green.

He should do something to help. If Jon hadn’t gone for help and was trying to get him out instead, he’d have a better time of it if Damian moved some of the rubble on his side. He braced his hand against the wall and pushed himself to his feet. He wobbled for a second, and took in a deep breath and coughed on pain. More than an ache in his back it hurt, not in a broken ribs kind of way, but close enough. He knew he had some bruising back there. He almosted glanced down to find the stone that had knocked him out but he shook his head instead, there wasn’t time to glare at rocks.

He stumbled over to the rubble and started moving what he could. Some pieces were either too heavy or stuck, jigsawed in between each other, meaning he had to work out what he could, and hope Jon could figure out the rest.

Damian worked on the pile until his breath was coming in short gasps and his vision was swimming. He dropped a last rock and let his back fall against the wall again, regretting the decision immediately as it reminded him he didn’t seem to have a bit of him unscathed. He groaned and let gravity help him slide down the wall and onto the ground. Most of the dust in the room had settled, so breathing should be easier than it was, even with bruised ribs, but he couldn’t quite catch his breath.

It must be the oxygen in the room. He winced at the realization, had he gotten a concussion as well to dumb his thoughts? He’d wasted more air than he cared to imagine working on the wall. A glance told him the ‘dent’ he’d made in it wasn’t worth the price of using up his clean air.

His hands went to his utility belt for his rebreather. It wasn’t in it’s usual pouch, or any close to that one. He dug through all of them to realize that he didn’t have it on him. He hadn’t bothered re-checking his equipment when he’d snuck out, and with him on bedrest neither Alfred nor Grayson could be expected to make sure his belt was up to normal standard.

He glanced back at the wall, hopefully whatever Jon was doing, he was doing quickly.

* * *

_He’s going to die in there._

The words were like a mantra in Jon’s head. Every time he thought them his powers shorted, and his strength failed. They hadn’t started right away, but the longer Jon worked on the pile of rubble in front of him the more frequent the worry got.

“Come on.” He grumbled, pulling on a particularly stubborn piece of rubble.

It popped out, and the whole pile shifted, sinking in on itself with a crunch and crash, sending puffs of smoke back into the air to choke Jon. He coughed, the back of his throat scratchy with dirt. Frustrated he waved his hand to clear it away. How could he work if he couldn’t breathe?

Panic hit him in another wave. Damian. Even if he wasn’t crushed or bleeding out he wasn’t out of danger. There was no air getting into where he was, and he had no way of knowing how much his friend had to work with in general, it wasn’t the biggest space, but it wasn’t a tiny box either. He could only hope there was enough breathable air inside for Damian to be fine while Jon dug him out. If Jon not he might suffocate before Jon could get to him.

He reached for another slab and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge. Jon couldn’t breathe, it had to move. Why wouldn’t it move? Was it his powers shorting again? No, they couldn’t, Damian needed him.

Damian had needed him before, and Jon had let his fear stop him from making it in time. He wouldn’t mess up this time, he couldn’t. If he did his friend would have worse to deal with than Scarecrow’s scythe.

_It’s your fault, you’re not strong enough._

He shook his head. He was strong enough, he just needed to get his powers to work. He yanked on the slab and pulled, the rock slipping from his fingers suddenly, and Jon tripped backwards falling down.

The jarring sensation shook hot tears from his eyes. He hated feeling powerless. He’d felt that way when Manchester had been taunting him, and again a few times after that. A creeping fear he’d never get control over his powers had lodged itself in the back of his mind. If he couldn’t control them, he couldn’t help people. And if he couldn’t help people what good was he?

The worst part was that he knew he could control them, and do it with amazing results. It had been twisted and full of hurt, but he’d done it. He just wanted to make that happen again, the right way this time. But the right way was so slow, and Damian was in danger now. How many more times would he fail before he had that same control?

He wiped his face and scrambled to his feet, perfect control or not, it didn’t really matter right now, he had to get Damian out. He didn’t have time to waste crying over the fact that he couldn’t do everything he wanted, instead he needed to focus on what he could do now.

He started digging again, faster this time, with a fire burning in his chest. He could do this. He’d already moved so much, and all he had to do was make an opening large enough for Damian to get out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features rocks, laser vision, and the discussion of powers.

Damian wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was regretting the entire night. They hadn’t even been successful with their mission. Yes, they’d shaken up the night’s events, and had stopped a new shipment of weapons getting into the wrong hands, but they hadn’t caught everyone. Added to that, he was probably going to die in this hole, because of a series of stupid mistakes on his part.

What would Grayson and Father think? His family had gone through so much to bring him back, to have him die again because he’d been reckless would seem worse than if he’d died heroically.

He swallowed back the worry. He wasn’t going to die. Jon was out there, somewhere, and he’d do anything to make sure Damian made it out. But it was getting harder to breathe. Damian resisted checking the oxygen to carbon dioxide levels in the space he was in, he was sure the numbers wouldn’t be pleasant to read.

It felt like hours sitting in the near dark with his breathing for company. That wasn’t the best company to have, not when every inhale hurt, and every exhale reminded him of how much less oxygen was in the room with him. At least his reopened wound had stopped bleeding. If he had to guess, he hadn’t done that much damage to it during the collapse, one maybe two stitches torn, with the pain greater than the actual blood loss. Pain was something he could ignore, blood not so much.

From outside he heard a crash, and the ground beneath him rumbled. Something was happening. Damian pushed himself back up against the wall and eased as far back from the collapsed pile as he could. If anything fell inward he was not going to be hit by it, not when rescue seemed so close.

The rumbling started again a moment before a tremendous crash tore through the wall. Damian threw his arms over his face to protect him from the sudden shower of rocks. Dust was everywhere again and as much as he wanted to breathe clean air, he did not want to inhale a mouthful of dirt.

“Damian!”

Damian opened his mouth to answer, and did exactly what he hadn't wanted to, he breathed in a cloud of dust. His answer came out as a coughing fit, before he managed a hoarse, “Superboy?”

His friend’s flashlight broke through the dust. Damian stumbled towards the opening, and the outstretched hand of his friend. As he let Jon pull him through the hole in the rubble, he caught sight of black, charred edges.

“What happened? Did you use your laser vision?” He asked as he settled on his feet again, Jon’s hand at his back as a steadying presence.

“I-I’m not sure?” Jon answered.

Damian looked up into his friend’s face to find confusion there. Worry raced through him. “What do you mean? Did you develop another power?”

Jon shook his head, even as he looped one of Damian’s arms over his shoulders. Damian didn’t argue, everything hurt too much and Jon’s support was welcome.

“It had to be my heat vision. I didn’t mean for that to be what I used though. I was so worried about you, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how you said you’d died before, and how I couldn’t let that happen again. Not because of me at least.”

He helped lead Damian back towards the connecting tunnels. “My powers kept shorting, and I got angry. You were going to die if I didn’t do something, and then it just sort of happened.”

Jon sounded almost ashamed at his explanation, and on the verge of tears. Damian nodded at him. “It’s okay.” he said. “You got me out, that’s what matters. We can figure out the power thing later, the most likely solution is that it resulted from adrenaline and worry.”

* * *

Jon let Damian soothe him with his words about adrenaline and that they’d figure it out, but it didn’t stop the sick feeling in his stomach. He had no idea how he’d gotten his friend out. Time had seemed to fall away as he was digging, and he kept pushing back the voice in his head telling him he was too late, that he wasn’t going to make it.

Then the whole thing fell in on itself again and Jon felt like all his work had gone to waste. He’d gotten angry, and scared, and everything felt wrong.

What are you going to tell his family when you find him dead again? That accusing voice had asked, turning his stomach in a sick twist.

Jon hated thinking about the fact that his friend had died before. He didn’t know all the details, but he did know it had happened while they’d been fighting and that his family had taken it hard. Hard enough is dad had done everything in his power to bring Damian back, and he’d succeeded. While it was great that he was back, Jon couldn’t stop thinking of how easy it was to kill him again. Anyone or anything could do it. A stray bullet, falling rubble, suffocation, if it happened today it would be Jon’s fault.

His anger, worry, and fear had all collided with each other. He felt something build up in him, a scream or shout of power and he had to let it out. The next moment the wall was breaking, crashing in with the force of power. He didn’t care to know how he’d done it, only that he could get his friend out.

Now it was catching up to him, and the reckless energy he’d felt seemed too familiar, too much like the way his power had felt with Manchester pulling the strings. It made him almost as sick as thinking Damian was dead did. His friend’s warm arm around his neck stilled some of the worry though, he was safe.

“I’m sorry.” Jon said.

“Don’t be, this was my fault in the first place.” Damian said, before adding a quiet, bitter, “Again.”

Jon let him have that bit of the blame, it was partially Damian’s fault. Even so, it was also Jon’s. “Even so. I’m sorry I cut it so close.”

Damian shrugged, his arm shifting around Jon’s neck where he was steadying his friend. “It’s fine. I’ve had worse.”

They were both quiet after that, before Jon found himself asking. “What was it like, dying?”

Beside him, Damian chuckled. “I figured you’d ask that eventually. How much has your dad told you about it?”

“Not much, you died fighting, and then your dad brought you back. You told me that part.”

Damian nodded. “I was fighting my clone. Mother was in a bad place, she’d put a bounty on my head and created a twisted older version of me. His name was Heretic. We were trying to stop one of her plans, and I died there. Heretic stabbed me through the heart with his sword.”

Jon flinched, and almost stumbled as they walked, but he kept his grip on his friend and they continued moving through the tunnel.

“That’s terrible.” He couldn’t imagine the pain of being stabbed through the heart, and he had trouble even picturing what it would feel like for it to be on his mom’s orders.

“It wasn’t all bad. When Father brought me back everything was warm and wonderful. He used a chaos shard fused with Darkseid’s power. One of its side effects gave me temporary powers, like yours.”

“Really?” Jon asked.

Damian nodded. “Tt, of course. They eventually faded, but not until I helped the Justice League stop an invading monster.”

“That’s so cool. Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner? I can’t believe you had powers like I do. Did you have trouble controlling them? What was it like learning to use them? Or did you just know?” The questions flooded out of Jon in a wave.

He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Yes, his friend had died, but he’d gotten powers. Powers like Jon had. That meant they were more alike than he’d thought, and maybe Damian had some of the same struggles with his as Jon did. He’d definitely felt the pain of losing them.

“I was able to control them for the most part, though they did fluctuate from time to time before fading altogether.” Damian told him.

They had reached the main subway line now and Damian pulled away from Jon’s assistance.

“I’m okay.” he explained.

Jon looked him over for a moment before nodding and switching off his flashlight. There was enough lighting in the subway for them to find their way by. Jon wanted to ask Damian more questions, make him elaborate on his powers, but as he opened his mouth both their comms burst to life.

“Robin. Superboy. Come in. Where are you two?” the sound was filled with static, but neither of them could deny the angry tone to Nightwing’s voice.

Damian sighed before answering. “Robin here. Superboy and I are fine. We were pursuing criminals in the subway.”

Jon pressed his lips together. “I’m pretty sure we’re in trouble.” He whispered.

“Don’t move. I’m coming to get you both.” Nightwing’s reply was more resigned than angry, but the threat was there. Whatever grounding they were facing would be worse if they ran off to try anything else.

“Yep, we’re totally in trouble.” Jon sighed before side eyeing Damian, “Just so you know, I’m blaming all this on you.”


	7. Chapter 7

Jon was in a cave. It wasn’t the Batcave or any other he’d be familiar with, just a nondescript cave. He was deep underground, hundreds of pounds of earth separating him from clean air and blue skies, and he wasn’t alone. Damian was here, somewhere. Trapped.

He knew it as well as he knew his own light only had minutes left in it’s batterie, like he knew he wasn’t going to make it in time. He might get out, but his friend never would, and it was his fault. All his fault. He’d brought them down here. He’d lost Damian. He was the one who couldn’t get enough control over his powers to find a heartbeat, or breathing, or anything.

“I could have managed it.” Damian’s voice echoed in the cave. “If our places were switched I could have saved you.”

“I’m sorry.” Jon called back. “I’m trying.”

“Why do you keep failing me? Why can’t you just get things right for once?”

Damian’s voice didn’t stop there, it listed out everything he’d done wrong, every time he’d failed starting with Goldie and moving through each successive screw up all the way to their flub in the subway. Pain welled in Jon’s chest, deep and profound despair at the reality crashing on him from all sides. At some point his light flickered out and he was left in darkness. If only it were just darkness, now in the utter absence of light, like phantom figures dancing across vision that shouldn’t be able to see anything he watched himself fail. Time and again, each one building in him until he screamed.

He bolted up in bed, panting. Morning light streamed into his room, warming his skin and dispelling the utter darkness of his nightmare. He knuckled his eyes hoping to drive the last of it away, this had been the third one in a row. Ever since they’d come back from the subway he’d had similar nightmares, and he was getting tired of them.

He slipped out of bed and looked around his half unpacked bedroom, trying to decide if it was a pajama day or if he wanted to go through the motions of getting dressed. It didn’t matter either way, Jon was grounded.

A situation he found wildly unfair seeing as it was him who kept Damian from killing himself by going into a fight on his own, and then helping matters by rescuing his friend. Unfortunately, his parents and Nightwing didn’t see things the same way. He was in trouble because he didn’t tell anyone, and for ‘encouraging bad behavior’. As if he had to encourage Damian to do anything.

Grounded meant no going out with his Dad, no patrolling with Damian, and worst of all no using his powers. He would be bored, but he had so much to do the grounding didn’t feel terrible. He still had boxes of things to unpack after the move, both in his room and helping around the apartment. His room was only half done, and taking up most of his attention.

He decided to change and then work on his room until his mom called him down for lunch or to help her with something. He ran downstairs long enough to have a bowl of cereal before heading back up.

He was shifting a stack of boxes when there was a knock on his door. “Come in.” he answered, settling the box he’d been carrying on his desk.

The door opened, and Damian walked in. Jon blinked at him for a moment before pointing at him. “You’re grounded.”

Damian rolled his eyes, unmoved by Jon's announcement. “Tt. Obviously.”

Jon let his arm drop, and he frowned. “I’m not going to sneak out with you on another one of your ‘adventures’. I’ve been grounded enough these past few months, I’m getting tired of it.”

His friend scowled. “I’m not here to drag you on an adventure.” his scowl deepened, like whatever he had to say next was worse than any grounding could be. “I am here on a ‘play date’.”

Jon’s mouth dropped open in surprise. He felt a bit like one of the cartoon characters he liked to watch, but it was true. Shock had left him speechless.

His mother walked into the room a moment later, pushing the door open the rest of the way before she stood in the frame. She was smiling, never a good sign when Jon was in trouble. “Mom, I promise, I told him I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Damian tutted, and muttered. “Traitor.”

Lois reached out and put a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “Neither of you are in trouble. Your dad and I thought you two might stay out of it better if we gave you some time to hang out, no danger involved. Damian’s brother agreed.”

Jon glanced at his friend who shrugged. “Father is still out of town. His business is running longer than he’d planned.”

“You don't want us bored,” Jon said, “so you're putting us together under ‘parental supervision’.”

His mom smiled, and gave him a thumbs up. “Try not to get into any trouble up here, I’ll have lunch ready around one.” She swept out as fast as she’d appeared, leaving Jon with Damian.

“So.” Jon said. “This is grounding for superheros, powers and adventures are bad but hanging out together is fine.”

Damian shrugged. “Either that or Pennyworth was tired of dealing with me.”

Jon raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t even want to know.” he motioned to the box on his desk. “I was unpacking. You could help if you want, unless you're still hurt from the other day?”

It had been a few days since their subway adventure, but Jon had noticed the blood seeping from his friend’s uniform while they’d waited on Nightwing to arrive. Damian had claimed it wasn’t bad, but the sight had added to Jon’s guilt anyway.

Damian waved off his worry. “Unpacking will not break me, Jon.”

“Right. Yeah. I know that.”

Damian was looking at him as if he didn’t believe it. Jon sighed and pointed at one of the boxes by his closet. “That one has bookcase stuff in it. Would you bring it over here?”

As Damian moved to retrieve the box, Jon opened the one he’d put on the desk. Together they emptied books and figures out of the boxes and sorted them on the bookcase. Damian insisted on sorting Jon’s books for him when he’d told his friend to ‘just put them anywhere’. That started a series of Damian eyeing his books with a careful look before either approving of them or telling Jon he had terrible taste.

Jon didn’t mind. It was nice sitting there discussing books with his friend. Any arguments were brief bursts quickly extinguished by the idea that everyone liked different things. Jon was particularly proud of managing to convince Damian to borrow the first issue of Naruto. His friend had never read manga before and Jon’s convincing argument was that he couldn’t hate it if he hadn’t experienced it before, that and he’d promised Damian he’d read Treasure Island next.

Once they got the books organized Jon started lining up the cars, action figures, and assorted memorabilia he liked to keep on the shelves.

“Piling all of it in front of the books is counteractive to reading.” Damian said, as Jon finished setting up a line of dinosaurs in front of his history books.

Jon shrugged, turning the t-rex so it was roaring at his stegosaurus. “I’ll move them when I want a book, it’s not that hard.”

He got a dismissive Tt as a response before there was the rustle of another box opening behind him.

“Jon. What is this?”

Jon turned around to find Damian holding up the rag and ooze filled mason jar and frowning. The sight of the black substance sent a shiver through Jon that he pressed down with a deep breath. It could not hurt him, Black was safely contained, and he was sure the jar had been just as black the last time he saw it. Maybe.

He snatched it from Damian. “A souvenir.” he answered, then at Damian’s frown he added, “Your dad keeps lots, from all his big fights. I thought looking at this would help me remember the victory instead of everything terrible that happened with Black.”

“Did you tell your father about it? Are you sure it is safe? It’s not the same as a giant penny or a gun, that stuff was under Black’s control, it still could be.” Damian asked, voice serious.

Jon was flattered by his friend’s worry, but he’d made his decision about the jar and he was sticking to it. It was a reminder, and a good one, at how strong he could be.

He turned the jar in his hands. “It’s fine, I promise. Black can’t control it, and nothing has changed about it since I found it.” He thought.

He really should have taken a picture of it when he’d first put it in the jar, anything to make sure the extra black smear on the inside was just the result of the jar being shaken during the move, and not something growing. Maybe he’d do that after Damian left, just to keep an eye on it. If for some reason it was growing that could be a problem, but he doubted it would.

“Plus the jar is sealed.” he said.

“You’re wrong.” Damian said, and Jon’s heart skipped a beat. “The seal on the lid’s been broken.”

Jon looked down at the jar in his hands and had to stop himself from running it down to his dad. The little button on the top was popped up. His brain couldn’t help but supply the words he saw on pickle jars: Do not consume if seal is broken. He wasn’t going to eat it, but he’d have to find a replacement jar soon. He tried the lid, it was still tight, which meant sometime during moving it must have popped on the bump of a tire or the rattle of boxes shoved against each other.

“It’s closed isn’t it?” he said. “That’s sealed enough.” he turned and put the jar on his shelf, next to his Superman figure in a show of bravado before turning back to Damian.

“Really, it’s fine. My dad said so.” the lie slipped out easily, and Damian didn’t seem to catch it, he simply shrugged and looked around the room.

“Are we going to spend all day unpacking your stuff?”

Jon shrugged. “We don’t have to. I’m not grounded from video games, just real fighting.”

Damian smiled. “Finally, something to hit. Do you have Smash Brothers? Grayson keeps insisting I must try it.”

Jon did have one of the smash brother’s games. It wasn’t the newest, but Damian was happy enough to play it with them. They worked their way through different characters, and set NPC’s at overly high levels to challenge themselves until Jon’s mom came to get them for lunch.

It didn’t take him long to start pressing Damian about the powers he’d once had. Ever since he’d mentioned it to Jon he’d wanted to ask more about them, to find out just how similar their positions had been, and to learn Damian’s opinion on them.

“Did you ever worry your powers were going to short out when you were helping someone?” Jon asked, snapping a chip between his fingers.

Damian stopped, his sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Not really.” Jon’s face fell and his friend grimaced. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just didn’t have time to worry. I only had my powers for a few weeks before they faded. I’d hardly gotten used to them before they were gone.”

Jon nodded. “That makes sense. But you said they shorted sometimes, wasn’t that scary?”

“A bit.” Damian admitted, tearing a corner off his sandwich. “I think the worst part about them was the fact that I couldn’t feel anything.” He frowned. “I couldn’t understand what was happening to me, I had the why, just not the how.”

That was something Jon could relate to. “I know the feeling. Every time I get a new power it’s always a bit of a bittersweet thing. It’s exciting, because hey new power, but scary because I have no idea how to control it or even if it’s going to stick around.”

Damian nodded, and swallowed a bite of his sandwich. “My powers always worked best when I used them confidently.”

“I didn’t ask—”

His friend shook his head,  “It was the obvious route this conversation was taking.” Damian tore another piece off his sandwich, “What else do you want to know?”

Jon ate a chip, while thinking about his question. “What- what was it like when you lost them?”

Damian frowned and shrugged. “It happened while I was asleep. They were there and gone, and just when I’d developed heat vision too.” He sighed. “Sometimes I miss them, but for the most part I’ve re-acclimated to life without them. I miss flying most of all, it is a far more efficient way of travel than anything.”

Jon ate another chip and tried not to look too disappointed. It was hard to relate when his friend hadn’t even felt his powers leave. Not like Jon had. That feeling of sudden loss, his heat vision fizzling out mid-beam. The panic and worry that sickened his stomach as he imagined never having his powers again.

“Just because they went missing overnight doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt losing them.” Damian clarified. “I went from feeling like I could do anything to being nothing again.”

“That I do know.” Jon said. “And I didn’t mean to make you think it didn’t matter that you’d lost them. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Damian shrugged, biting into another chunk of sandwich.

Jon shook his head. “It’s not. You’re amazing, even without powers. You’re not nothing.”

Damian grinned. “I know that.” His smile faded. “But thank you. And just so you know, Jon, I expect you to get competent enough with your powers that you outstrip me at my best.”


	8. Chapter 8

Jon and Damian were allowed to hang out a few more times while they were both grounded. Jon was happy about it. He’d been worried that moving meant hours of boredom as he waited to make new friends in Metropolis. Seeing Damian twice a week while they were grounded was enough to alleviate both the boredom and fear.

Fear of boredom was the only one of Jon’s worries that was fixed by time spent with his friend. He was having nightmares. He hadn’t wanted to admit they were bothering him, but it had been weeks since their Scarecrow run in, and he’d been told very clearly by Damian that any nightmares resulting from the toxin itself should have faded by now. His friend went on to tell him that if he was still having problems with them, they could talk, or he could talk with his dad, but there wasn’t any kind of cure beyond that for them. Jon had quickly told him it was probably a pizza dream and the matter was dropped. Except it hadn’t been an isolated incident.

After the mess in the subway they’d only gotten worse. Jon was certain he hadn’t had more than a few hours sleep each night for weeks.

He was trying not to let it show, keeping a smile plastered on his face, and pushing through homework he’d rather toss in his mom’s shredder, but it was starting to wear him down. He was happy he wasn’t allowed to go out and help his dad or fight with Damian, if he had either of those things added to his plate he was pretty sure he’d fall apart. Not just because he was exhausted, but because every time he looked at either of them he saw his nightmares.

His friend broken and bleeding. Blaming him for everything. His dad and Nightwing standing by while Damian was crushed under tons of rock or sliced into pieces by a scythe held by no one. Jon always a watcher and never able to help. It wasn’t that his powers didn’t work. No they worked fine, he just never got there in time. All the while his dad and Nightwing’s voices echoed, ‘He’ll be fine.’ ‘He can handle himself.’ ‘We’ll keep him safe.’ All empty promises, turned into lies the moment they stopped to watch instead of help.

It was a nightmare that had him awake now. Damian’s screams still played in his ears as he rushed to the bathroom to wash his hands and face. Everything felt hot, his stomach sick. He scrubbed at his hands, washing away invisible blood and splashed cold water on his face to clear the sweat away, before wiping it dry with a towel. Then he stood there pulling at the dark bags under his eyes. He had to find some way to sleep.

He picked his phone up off the counter to send Damian a quick text:

**‘Hey, you awake?’**

There was no telling if he was or not. Usually, Damian could be counted on to be awake in the middle of the night, but his bedtime had been changed as a result of the grounding, and a few of the times Jon had texted him his friend had actually been asleep. He wished he was that lucky.

He dropped the phone into one of the pockets on his sleeping shorts and clicked the light off behind him as he left the bathroom. Instead of returning to his room he made his way to the kitchen, the thought of something warm in his stomach a promise to help him sleep.

Jon knew his mom kept a box of chamomile for nights like these. The light over the sink lit the room well enough for him to find the right cabinet. He pulled it down and filled the kettle with enough water for a mug and set it on the stove to heat up. While he waited for the water to heat up his stomach grumbled.

He opened the fridge and frowned at it’s contents, leftovers and a potato salad Mom had made for a work meeting greeted him. None of it suitable for a late night snack. He dug in one of the drawers and passed on a peach and apple in favor of the opened package of bologna. He pulled two slices of bread from the loaf and made himself a sandwich.

He was pretty sure the flavors of chamomile and bologna wouldn't really go well together, but he didn’t really care either. His stomach was demanding a late night snack and this seemed best.

The sandwich was halfway gone when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

**‘I am. Why are you up?’**

Jon grinned down at the words on his screen, and something in him lifted. Damian was okay. Not that he’d believed his nightmares were real, but the reality of the words on the screen made concrete the idea that everything was alright.

**‘I wanted a snack.’**

It wasn’t really his reason, just the one best received by his friend. There wasn’t anything Damian could do for him all the way in Gotham right now anyway, well nothing beyond his presence being enough to soothe some of Jon’s fears.

It was a few seconds before he got the next response, he was expecting a rebuke or question marks, instead he laughed out loud.

**‘Now you’ve made me hungry.’**

**‘I’m sure Alfred left something in the kitchen.’**

He finished off his sandwich while waiting for a response and checked the water. The kettle had steam wafting out of the spout, just on the verge of whistling. He clicked it off and pulled a mug down from the shelf, dropping a teabag in before he poured the water over.

**‘Eating in the middle of the night is apparently, ‘bad for one’s health’. I blame this on you.’**

Jon put a hand over his mouth to stop his laugh from being too loud. He emptied the rest of the kettle into the sink before replacing it.

**‘Don’t you eat in the middle of the night all the time though?’**

Damian’s response was immediate.

**‘Yes.’**

Jon watched his phone as the dots of someone else typing indicated Damian wasn’t finished with his response. He bobbed his tea bag in his mug while he waited.

**‘Pennyworth has never agreed with it, and insists I follow proper eating protocols while I am forced to follow equally proper sleep patterns. Now I am forced to return to bed with my stomach distractedly empty.’**

Jon had only finished reading the response when Damian’s third came in:

**‘As I said, this is your fault.’**

Jon sent back a grinning face and left his phone on the counter while he tossed the used tea bag in the garbage. He picked his phone and the mug up and went back to his room, blowing on the steaming liquid to get it close to being drinkable.

He sat cross legged on his bed, the mug balanced against one of his legs as he checked his phone for a response. Nothing. It was almost ten minutes of scrolling twitter and sipping on his tea before he got another response.

**‘I hope you are happy.’**

**‘?’**

**‘Because of your stomach, I was forced to raid Drake’s snack drawer.’**

**‘I don’t see how that’s my fault, at least you got snacks.’**

The next response came as an image, it was a picture of one of Damian’s hands, only it was pink. And not the kind of pink girls dresses were made of, this was a hot, bright, almost luminescent pink.

Jon was giggling again, and he had to pick his mug up to keep it from spilling on his bedspread.

**‘Please tell me it’s just on your hand.’**

There was a few seconds and then another picture showed up on Jon’s phone, Damian’s hands, and pajamas were covered in the pink, his face a scowl.

**‘At least it wasn’t your face.’**

Jon could almost hear Damian sighing from his room.

**‘This was my favorite nightshirt.’**

Jon sent back a frowning face before he responded again.

**‘I’ll get you a new one, with dinosaurs or something. You’ll love it, I promise.’**

**‘Tt’**

**‘Damian, you can’t tt over the phone, it doesn’t have the same impact.’**

**‘Go to sleep, Jon.’**

Jon grinned at the message and finished off the last of his tea. He responded with a ‘goodnight’ and put his phone up. His stomach was warm, and his mind finally free from worry. When he snuggled back under his blankets and closed his eyes he dreamed of Damian covered in pink paint and daring food heists.


	9. Chapter 9

By the time Grayson lifted his grounding Damian was both healed and bored out of his mind. Something his brother was happy to inform him was ‘one of the points of grounding’.

It wasn’t all bad. As much as he complained about it out loud, Damian didn’t mind the frequent trips to Metropolis to visit Jon or his friend’s response visits. It was a surprisingly effective tool for keeping Damian distracted and away from Grayson’s case files that doubled as time to get to know Jon better. The best kind of team was one that knew each other well. And he wouldn’t argue against the fun they were having.

Though lately Jon seemed off. Almost since the cave in his friend had been jumpier than usual, and complaining of frequent nightmares. Damian assumed it had to do with their two failed missions and Jon’s experiences there, but the more he heard of his friends adventures with Superman the less he thought it was just the trips to Gotham ruining Jon’s sleep.

He had seen and experienced enough to give him nightmares, but not so much they should be as regular and sleep depriving as those Jon was dealing with. He’d tried his mother’s remedies, and some Damian had suggested. Even Pennyworth and attempted to help when Jon showed up with tired eyes and bags. So far nothing had helped, and Jon’s mood had suffered from it. To the point that Damian was happier to be ungrounded more for a release from his hang outs than then a return to patrol.

Between that and Father returning from overseas Damian shouldn’t have been as bored as he was, but there was something about being restricted from doing anything mildly dangerous that made his brain go slack with boredom, he hadn’t even wanted to consider it after his failure in the subway, and the grounding simply made it worse. Now that the restriction was lifted his energy had returned. He was ready to get a patrol with Jon in Gotham right this time.

The first thing he did after an early breakfast was ensure his uniform was in proper order, refilling the pouches on his utility belt and checking the whole thing over three times. He wouldn’t be caught without a key piece of equipment again.

He was in the middle of his third examination when Grayson came into the cave followed by Superman. Damian leaned to see around the men and find Jon following, but his friend was nowhere to be found.

“I thought you’d be down here.” Dick said, as they walked over. “Clark’s worried about Jon, and we were hoping you could help.”

Damian clipped the pouch shut he’d been checking and turned the stool he was sitting on to better face them. “Did something happen?” he asked walking over.

“Nothing specifically, but you’ve been around him lately. Has he seemed off to you?” Clark asked.

Damian narrowed his eyes at the man. He knew he only had Jon’s interests at heart, but if his friend hadn’t seen fit to tell him of the frequent nightmares he was dealing with Damian didn’t think it was his place to share. Especially since Jon had stopped talking to Damian about them.

Clark took the chair next to him so he could look Damian in the eyes, “You need to understand, I’m worried about him. His grades have been slipping and he’s been more on edge than usual. Last night, he even seemed upset when I told him he could start helping me again.”

He frowned, that was unlike Jon. He wasn’t as eager as Damian was to fight crime, but it wasn’t like him to get upset about helping people.

“Perhaps.” Damian started, and then realized he’d actually spoken. He grimaced and plowed forward, neither of the two men in the room would let him stop when he’d started answering the question they’d come for. “Perhaps, he’s nervous? Our last two missions did not go well, and he hasn’t been out in the field since then.”

It was the obvious reason of course. Even Damian could get apprehensive about patrol after he’d had a particularly bad one, especially as bad as the last two he and Jon had been on. That too could be the source of his friend’s loss of sleep.

From beside them, Grayson nodded. “That makes sense. I know when I was younger going back out after dealing with Crane or a cave in was hard. I was always afraid of messing up worse.”

“Hmm.” Clark crossed his arms. “What if we all go out together? That way Jon knows he has plenty of backup with him, and he can feel more comfortable.”

Dick nodded. “That’s a good idea, I’ve got a case I’m wrapping up that I could use a few extra hands on.” he turned to Damian. “Dames, what do you think?”

“I believe it will help.” he agreed.

* * *

Jon was grumpy. He’d woken up that way from the few hours of sleep he’d managed, and almost gotten himself grounded again within his first few minutes downstairs. Not that he wouldn’t mind more grounding. It was better than thinking about returning to action alongside his dad, but it would keep him from being able to keep an eye on Damian, who was now equally ungrounded.

His nightmares had only gotten worse as they’d come closer to being able to return to their heroing duties. It was at the point where even seeing his friend wasn’t enough to stop the constant hum of fear in Jon’s head, the whispers that Damian was never going to be safe enough. Of the surety that his friend would put himself in danger the moment he had a chance. Death and dying were his mental companions and Jon was exhausted.

He’d even snapped at Krypto for wanting a little attention.

His plan had been to try and nap at some point during the day. It was Saturday, the unpacking was done at this point, and until that evening Jon was supposed to have the night to himself. Apparently his dad had convinced Damian and his brother to let the both of them tag along that evening. Nightwing had been looking into the paper trail following a series of robberies and had finally found the man who’d ordered them, an Edward Ricardelly. They were raiding his office tonight. Dick thought having Superman and Superboy along would make everything easier, Jon didn’t care either way as long as he got to keep an eye on his friend.

The thought that Damian was heading back out into Gotham, a place filled with fear gas and explosives, with crazy clowns and creepy men with riddles terrified Jon. He wanted his friend to be safe, and the best way to make that happen was to be by his side.

He was going to sleep and build his energy for the night ahead of them, but his plans were derailed when his dad came in and told him they’d be leaving early and having dinner with the Waynes. He wanted to catch up with Damian’s dad after his extended trip, and thought Jon might enjoy some time with his friend before patrol.

Jon packed his suit and they left for Gotham, Jon trying to figure out a plan to get Damian to agree to letting him take a nap.

When they arrived he tried his best to suppress his worry as they walked up to the door, but his dad seemed to pick up on his emotions, he put a hand on his shoulder and smiled down at him.

“It’ll be alright tonight, Jon.”

“Yeah.” he said, then couldn’t help himself but add. “Dad?”

“Hm?” Clark asked, as they stopped at the door and he rang the bell, it wasn’t entirely necessary since they were expected but it was polite.

Jon tapped a foot on the ground and took in a deep breath. “Can you promise me something?”

Clark turned to him. “It depends, but I’ll try my best, what’s up?”

“Promise you’ll look out for Damian tonight, and make sure he’s safe.” His foot was still tapping. “We-’ve--we’ve had a few rough patrols, and I want to make sure everything goes alright.”

His dad knelt by him, so they could look eye to eye. “I promise, Jon. I’ll make sure you’re both safe tonight. Nightwing will too.” he smiled. “You’ll see, everything is going to go well.”

Jon nodded as the door opened. Clark stood, a smile on his face and greeted Alfred who directed him to Bruce’s study.

“Hello, Master Jonathan.” Alfred said, as Jon stepped in after his dad.

“Hi, Mr. Pennyworth, how are you?”

Alfred closed the door behind him before answering. “I’m well, and yourself?”

Jon smiled at him. “I’m better now that I’m here. Where’s Damian?”

“In the living room with his sketchbook, I believe.”

“Thanks, Mr. Pennyworth.” Jon waved as he darted past the man and into the livingroom. Now that he was here his nerves felt like they’d only settle down once he’d seen his friend.

He slid into the other room and found Damian lounging on the couch, sketchbook braced against his legs. Jon peered at it over the edge of the couch, he was drawing Alfred as the cat slept on one of the windowsills across the room.

“It’s good.” He said.

“Hrn.” Damian replied and pulled his legs a little closer to himself to free up a cushion.

Jon sat down, facing Damian, the toes of his shoes meeting his friend’s. “You’re brother told you we’re patrolling tonight?”

Damian hummed a response and kept sketching.

“Did you want to play a game or maybe spar?”

Jon was brimming with the need to do something. Now that he was here the desire for a nap had gone and his feet were itchy to move. He didn’t mind his friend drawing but he wanted to do something that felt more productive than watching someone else draw.

The pen stopped and his friend looked up at him. “I am not going to get to finish this am I?”

“Nope.” Jon said.

Damian sighed and flipped the book closed, sticking his pencil between the pages he was working on. “Did you have lunch?”

Jon shook his head. Damian stood and left the sketchbook in his seat. “Let’s start with that,then.”

They’d finished a stack of sandwiches when Alfred came into the kitchen.

“Ah, good. I was about to look for you boys. How would you like to help me with some baking?” He asked.

Jon sat up from where he’d been slouched on a barstool, looking over his phone. “Yes. We’d love to, right Damian?”

His friend shrugged. “I’m not sure I have much say in the matter, but I rarely mind assisting in the kitchen, so yes Pennyworth. We will take you up on your offer.”

Jon had hoped that keeping his hands busy would still the worry bouncing around in his mind, but even as they worked together with Alfred, collecting ingredients and stirring dough he couldn’t shake the thoughts. Everything and anything that could go wrong that evening picked away at his peace, leaving him exhausted and prone to mistakes. After almost adding a cup of salt to cookie batter instead of sugar Jon admitted that maybe a cup of tea would be a nice way to wake him up.

“I didn’t sleep so well last night.” He admitted, as Alfred pressed a warm cup into his hands.

“Perhaps a nap is in order then? To prepare you for tonight?” the man suggested.

Jon shook his head and looked at Damian, still busy scooping perfectly sized balls of dough onto a cookie sheet. “I don’t want to waste the day.”

“It would not be a waste if it helped keep you alert while out tonight.” Alfred told him.

Jon blushed, it hadn’t been said in a disapproving tone, but Jon got his meaning. Everyone would be safer if he was alert and not falling asleep where he stood. “You’re right.

Alfred nodded. “After we’re done you can use one of the guest rooms. I’m sure Master Damian wouldn’t mind some time to finish his sketch from earlier.”

“Thanks, Mr. Pennyworth.” Jon said.

Damian was happy enough to let Jon sleep for a while, and told him when he was ready he’d be back in the living room. He even offered to send Titus in to sleep with Jon, something he readily took his friend up on. He loved curling up against Krypto on lazy days and Titus had taken a liking to him, enough that he didn’t mind it when Jon did the same to him.

He managed about half an hour of restless tossing before he fell into something like sleep. Nightmares chased him for another hour until Titus’s rough tongue on his cheek pulled him from a scene of both he and Damian falling from a rooftop, neither able to save themselves or the other.

“Thanks, boy.” Jon said, hugging onto Titus as he attempted to get his breathing under control. “I think that’s enough attempting to sleep for now.”

He stayed pressed close to the dog for another half hour, fiddling with his phone in order to calm down before he felt comfortable enough to leave and find Damian. When he did he stayed glued to his friend’s side until it was time for patrol.


	10. Chapter 10

Jon wasn’t nervous. He couldn’t explain that to his dad or Damian and Dick, they were all giving him that look. The one that said he was fragile and they were doing this for him. Normally he didn’t mind that kind of thing.

But it irked him. He could blame it on grumpiness from lack of sleep, but he didn’t want to. He wasn’t a china doll, and he wasn’t scared to go back into the field. If anything he was happy for it, it meant he could keep an eye on Damian. His nervous energy only seemed to ease when he was with his friend.

There had been little pleasantry while they suited up and followed Nightwing and Robin out into Gotham, only a breakdown of the plan and a check up on everyone’s status. Then they were moving, taking a direct approach on the man by using the front door.

They ran into a little trouble in the front, guards set to protect Ricardelly. It wasn’t anything even Jon alone could handle, let alone against all four of them, so he let himself relax, taking what came at him and trusting the others in his group to do the same.

He was ready to make a funny quip about these guys thinking they could take on Supers and Bats, and turned to tell Robin it when his heart rate jumped about a billion beats. He turned it time to see Robin get tossed across the room, crashing into a table that broke under the impact of his fall.

Jon was torn between taking out the guy who’d tossed Damian, and checking on his friend. He could be really hurt, or stunned. If that was the case he needed to hurry over and help. But if he was fine, the thug that had tossed him was getting swift retribution. Jon’s indecision seemed to give Robin the time to decide for him. His friend pulled himself out of the wrecked table and charged forward again to take care of his own problem. Jon’s panic faded into embarrassment, and he was happy he hadn’t acted on the fear.

_ He’s still not safe.  _

The voice in Jon’s head whispered as he watched Damian dispatch the man who’d hit him, then another one in quick succession. He won’t be safe as long as he’s out here fighting crime. But that’s what Damian loved, he’d told Jon as much, he proved it every night as he grinned his way through fights and ignored pain in favor of helping the helpless.

_ He needs you by his side. _

That much was true. Jon had been the only one to react to Damian’s danger, his dad and Nightwing both busy with someone else. They’d promised, Jon had made his dad promise that he and Dick would keep an eye on them. His dad had seemed to take the request seriously, and had granted it with ease, but already his lack of attention was bothering Jon. Still, Damian technically hadn’t gotten hurt so Jon could still say his dad was keeping his promise. 

The rest of the fight wrapped up with little fanfare. Robin and Nightwing secured the men while Jon and his dad kept an eye out for any other trouble. Then there wasn’t much else standing between them and Ricardelly’s office and soon they were face to face with the man. A lanky guy, with sandy hair and beady eyes, in a suit a size too big for his frame. Jon didn’t like him from the moment they spotted him.

He was too, Jon wasn’t sure what to call him. Too stereotypical? Too unassuming? Whatever it was, he wasn’t what Jon was used to seeing in Gotham. He’d decided that no one was as they seemed, and everyone had some kind of freaky secret or hidden agenda. The same was with this guy, he couldn’t just be a lanky guy with an eye for art. Maybe he was an expert marksman or had some kind of weird mind control powers. Whatever it was he’d be ready.  

Jon ignored the back and forth between the man and Nightwing and Superman, but kept an eye on him while he focused on Damian. He let the discussion of the thefts and where the items were, who he was working for, and the like, wash over him as he frowned at his friend. Nothing seemed wrong from their fight, but he needed to be sure. He inched his way over beside Damian and nudged him with his elbow.

Robin looked at him, “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Jon shook his head. “You ok?”

Damian scowled. “This isn’t the time for that, Superboy.”

He frowned back at his friend. “Of course it is, they’ve got this handled. I just want to make sure your fine after that fall.”

“I’ve taken much worse, Superboy, now pay attention. I think he’s going to lead us somewhere.”

Jon tuned his attention back in long enough to figure out that Ricardelly was going to take them somewhere. Apparently the safe he was keeping the stolen artwork in was keyed into his fingerprint and set to explode if anyone but himself tried to get in.

Superman kept a careful hand on the man’s shoulder the entire way to the safehouse where he was keeping the artwork, not even letting it off when he instructed the man to open the safe. 

Their walk had lulled Jon into a sense of security. Maybe his assumption about the man had been wrong, he really could be a creep who liked art too much. So he’d hung back, and let his steps fall in line with those of his friend’s, the adults taking the lead. 

Then Ricardelly threw Superman’s hand off his shoulder, and sent Jon’s dad flying across the room with a shove and a spasm of muscles and strength. He turned to Nightwing, Robin, and Jon with a roar, his muscles doubling then tripling in size. He was no longer lanky, his suit straining at it’s seems to hold in the muscles filling the arms and chest.

Then he was charging them. Nightwing was in front of them, flipping over the man at the last second before he would have run into him. He landed on Ricardelly’s back, escarma sticks jammed into his shoulder blades, and flashing with electricity.

Ricardelly screamed and pawed at Nightwing and his back, flailing until he threw the vigilante from his perch, sending him toppling into Superman who’d recovered at last.

Damian charged forward, but Jon’s own steps took him ahead of his friend. Ricardelly had sent Superman flying, there was no way Jon was letting him get anywhere near Damian. Who knew what else he could do? Jon launched himself at the man and found himself swatted away like a fly.

His back crashed into a wall, denting it, and knocking the air from his lungs. His vision swam for a moment before righting itself again. Jon tried to sit up and out of the rubble, but found himself stuck in the small crater he’d put there. After a few seconds struggle he’d freed himself, landing on the ground.

A familiar cry stole his attention from the ache in his back, to find Robin pressed up against the opposite wall, Ricardelly’s far too large hand covering his chest and neck, pressing the boy further into the wall, the plaster spider webbing with cracks around his frame. A line of blood, red and stark dripped from Damian’s temple.

“Robin!” Jon shouted and flew, a bullet into Ricardelly’s side. Damian’s thump as he hit the ground enough to tell him his friend was safely out of the other man’s grip, and out of the line of danger.

His vision went red as he pummeled the man, power surging through his chest and up the back of his neck into his head. Fear and anger mingling in a mess of fury until there was a hand on his shoulder, heavy, and familiar enough to snap him out of it.

“Superboy, stop it. You’ll kill him.” The voice belonged to his dad, worried and afraid.

Jon’s hands stopped and he stumbled back, away from Ricardelly, who lay unconscious on the ground. His dad’s hand falling away as he backed up.

“Jon, what happened?” his dad asked him.

His heart was racing, his stomach sick with what he’d just done. What had happened? Then he turned to look at Damian, still slumped against the wall, his brother not even near him. No he was gawking at the scene Jon had made. His anger flared up again.

“This is your fault.” He said, his voice like venom, and he didn’t care. “Both of yours.”

“Jon—” his dad started.

“No,” Jon cut him off. “You promised.” He angled a finger at Superman. “You promised tonight would go well, and Damian’s hurt, again.”

This seemed to turn both adults attention back towards Damian, who’d started to stir. Nightwing’s steps towards him were fast, but Jon’s were faster, he was by his friend’s side in a moment, helping him to his feet, his arm tight around Damian’s chest to keep him on his feet.

Nightwing reached out, but Jon stepped back, pulling a half conscious Damian with him. “No, don’t touch him.”

“Jon, please, I need to make sure he’s not seriously hurt.” Dick’s voice was gentle, like Jon was a child who didn’t understand the situation.

Jon might be young, but was sure he knew what was going on. His grip tightened on his friend, and Damian let out a low moan. “No. If he’s hurt it’s your fault, yours and my dad’s. You two were supposed to keep us safe, you’re experienced you should have seen this coming.”

_ You’re the only one who can protect him. Take him and go. _

That’s all Jon wanted to do, was take Damian and run, hide somewhere far away from Gotham and it’s dangers, from Dick who’d been careless with his brother, and his dad who’d broken his promise.

He felt his powers surging again, all that energy pouring out through his skin. It was an almost familiar memory, like he’d felt when fighting—he couldn’t think of who they’d fought when he’d last felt this way, couldn’t even picture a face. And it didn’t matter, he knew his powers were enough to keep them safe, keep Damian safe, and that’s what mattered to him.

_ They’ll only fail him again, you’re the only one good enough for him. You have the power to keep him safe, to make him better. _

There was that voice again, the smooth rich tone that was familiar as well. Like it had been with him all his life. A voice Jon could believe. One that was right. Jon was the only one who could keep Damian safe, and he did have something to make him better.

Damian had powers before, who was Jon to say he couldn’t have them again? Yes they’d faded, but what if there were something that would help them return, this time for good. Jon’s mind flashed to the jar in his room. First he’d have to get Damian to safety, then he could get the jar, after that, well he had a feeling he’d figure it out when he needed to.

“Jon?” Damian’s voice was confused and hoarse from where a too large hand had bruised his windpipe.

“It’s ok, I’m going to make sure no one hurts you again.” Jon soothed a moment before he knocked his friend unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all knew something was going to happen eventually, so don't hate me.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consistent chapter lengths? What are those? 
> 
> That is to say this is almost double what I normally post, so enjoy and maybe expect more? I have no idea. I have little say in the matter, these scenes decide where they want to break.

Damian groaned, and pulled his eyes open. For a moment everything was doubled before pulling back together. His head throbbed and swam, threatening to turn his stomach if he moved too much. He ignored it, pushing himself up to sit against the back of the couch he’d been left on.

There hadn’t been a couch in the room they’d been in, and Damian was sure the walls had been plaster, not wood. The ceiling was made of the same material, high and raised, with lights hanging down.

He wasn’t ready to move yet, his stomach queasy with pain, so he settled for memorizing the strange space he’d found himself in. It was a standard hunting cabin, an old stove and counter space was tucked into a corner with a large room surrounding it. The room was sparsely furnished and covered in a layer of dust. The couch was old and used, Damian’s hand brushed across a gash in the cushion beneath him, revealing foam and stuffing. Set in front of the couch was a coffee table in close to the same state, his mask and cape resting on it. There was also a set of chairs against one of the walls, one with the back broken out of it. There wasn’t a lot he’d have to dodge if he needed to make a quick escape.

As for exits, there were two doors, one across the room from him and the other to his left. One, he assumed lead out while the other probably lead to a bathroom. There was also a window providing natural light from behind him. When he turned he realized it was both too small and set too high in the wall to be of any real use beyond decoration.

He’d finished cataloging the room when the door to his left opened and Jon stepped inside, he caught a glimpse of a fairly spacious bathroom behind him before Jon kicked the door closed. His arms were piled down with a few pillows, a blanket, and what looked like a bottle and gauze balanced on top. The pile obscured most of his features.

“Jon?” Damian asked.

He wasn’t entirely clear on how they’d gotten there, or where he even was, but Jon’s presence and the lack of danger eased some of the uncertainty settled in the back of Damian’s aching head. He was trying to remember what happened during the fight with Ricardelly, he knew it hadn’t been going well, but beyond that his brain was fuzzy. He guessed he’d passed out after getting slammed into the wall. 

“Damian!” His friend’s voice came happily from behind the pile, and he hurried over, the pile wavering slightly as he moved. “You’re up, I was wondering when you’d wake.”

“Where are we?” Damian asked, as Jon set the pile on the low table in front of Damian. There was more tucked into the top than Damian had thought, as Jon set them on the hard surface of the table. A rag, a darkly tinted bottle, gauze, tape, water, and what looked like a smaller pill bottle. He resisted reaching out for the pills and water. His head might be on the verge of cracking open, but he needed answers.

“Hamilton.” Jon said, lifting the darkly tinted bottle up to examine it, there was something off about his skin. Damian couldn’t put his finger on it, not with Jon’s face turned away from him the way it was, but it planted a seed of worry in his mind.

He could have asked why they were all the way in Hamilton County when they’d been in Gotham the last time Damian had been awake, but there was another more pressing question on his mind, “What happened tonight?”

Jon nodded at the bottle and set it down. “You got hurt.” he said, as if that were the entire answer.

Damian scowled at him, but Jon ignored it to step around the table and press his thumb against Damian’s temple. Pain bloomed under his thumb, and Damian swatted his friend’s hand away. “Sorry, just checking.” Jon gave him a tiny smile before turning to lift the bottle again, and the rag. “You were bleeding. Let me clean it and we’ll see how bad the damage is?” it was a statement wrapped in a question. Jon’s eyes told Damian he was going to do it whether he argued or not.

He wasn’t in much of a position to fight it, everything was blurry again with the renewed wave of pain in his head. Besides, he’d have to let someone look at the injury, and now seemed as good a time as any.

Jon poured, what Damian now realized was, hydrogen peroxide onto the rag and dabbed it at Damian’s temple. This time he was ready for the pain, and the sensation of the liquid, bubbling up around what he figured was a cut tingled and mixed strangely with the sharp pain situated there.

“Where are Grayson and Mr. Kent?” Damian asked, then hissed as the rag brushed against a sensitive spot.

“Sorry.” Jon said, again. He pulled the rag away and turned it over to wet the other side with peroxide. “They aren’t here.” he answered, reaching the rag towards Damian’s head again.

Something in the Jon’s voice told him he didn’t mean the men were taking care of Ricardelly or talking to the police. He caught his friend’s wrist and frowned at him. “What do you mean ‘not here’? Where are they, Jon?”

Jon pulled his wrist away from Damian and went back to cleaning his temple with a shrug. “I mean, they aren’t here. I left them back at the safehouse.”

“Are they coming?” Damian prodded.

Jon bit his lower lip. “This is a pretty bad cut, Damian. It’s stopped bleeding, but I’ll need to bandage it.”

“They aren’t coming. Do they even know where we are? What happened tonight, Jon?” Damian said. He took Jon’s hand and pulled the rag out of it. “I need to know.” he said once his friend was looking at him.

There was something wrong with Jon, and Damian needed to keep him calm and talking long enough to figure out what it was. He’d never drag them both to some abandoned shack in the middle of nowhere if everything was fine. It had to be the nightmares, spooking Jon into thinking there was danger where there wasn’t. Damian getting hurt must have been enough to spark some kind of stress delusion. Damian just needed to confirm it.

“You got hurt.” Jon said, his voice small this time, like it was his fault, and the world had ended with the event.

He turned and picked up the gauze and medical tape before turning back to Damian. He let Jon bandage the wound and work up the words for an explanation. “We were fighting that Ricardelly guy and he was pressing you into the wall like he wanted to squish you against it. I-I don’t really know how it happened but I knocked him away and took him down, but you were still hurt, and I wasn’t fast enough.”

He put the gauze back on the table and picked up the water, handing it and the pills to Damian. “Dad and Nightwing, they weren’t even worried about you.” some heat had entered his voice now. “You were hurt and all they cared about was what I did.”

Damian could understand that, Jon was far stronger than he seemed, and if he was angry enough to let loose on someone Damian would have been more interested in their safety than most other things. Even someone like Ricardelly. Jon didn’t seem to see that though. He opened the bottle and took two pills, willing them to work fast to cut down his headache, he might need all the energy he could get if Jon did something stupid.

Jon stepped away from Damian, a sudden need to move having taken him. “I couldn’t figure it out, why weren’t they worried about you? My dad promised he’d take care of us, your brother said everything would be ok tonight and it wasn’t. You got hurt.” All the heat and anger and pacing seemed to leave Jon with the last three words.

Damian set the bottle and pills on the table and stood, “I’m sorry, Jon.” he said, stepping over to put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “This is my fault.”

Jon shook him off, anger clouding his face. “No it’s not. It’s their fault, your brother and my dad’s. They were supposed to look out for us, make sure we were ok and they didn’t. And because of that you kept getting hurt.”

“It hasn’t been all their fault. I’ve been hurt plenty without either of them there.” Damian tried to explain.

He had an idea of what was really bothering Jon now. All he’d seen the past times they’d been out was failure on Damian’s part, and danger, more than either of them should have been in. That added to fears Scarecrow’s gas brought up had probably sent his friend down a road of worry he needed to be pulled off of. Too much time spent worrying the same thing could warp it,and change it, and Damian was afraid that had happened to his friend.

“You shouldn’t have been.” Jon snapped. “There’s people in your life who should be taking care of you. Your brother was supposed to watch you while Batman was away and you almost died the other day.”

“Grayson wasn’t with us in the subway, he didn’t know we were there.” Damian said.

“Exactly!” Jon pointed at him, “Dick should have known you’d sneak out eventually, he should have been there, or done something to keep you out of danger, but he didn’t.” There was a growl in his voice now, a rant there that had been building.

“You’re only human, Damian. You act like you're more than that, but everything about you is easy to break for someone like me, for a bullet, or rock, or a drug tuned just the right way. I can’t always be there to keep you safe. My dad--” Jon’s voice caught with desperate tears. “My dad says we can’t always be there, and I can’t trust your family to take care of you.”

Damian wasn’t sure he liked where this trail of conversation was going, and almost said something, but then Jon did start crying and he had to stop a gasp when he saw black leaking out instead of saltwater, trailing down Jon’s cheeks.

The dark tint to Jon’s skin, the fear in his voice and eyes, and now the inky black. Damian didn’t know how he hadn’t figured it out sooner. The ooze Jon kept in his room hadn’t been safe, he’d probably been lying about letting Clark see it too. Black had creeped into his life through a sneaking fear and Damian had thought it was just his friend being too worried about him.

“Jon, listen. I know you're afraid I might get hurt or die, but I can take care of myself. Even if my family and you can’t always be there, I am capable of staying safe.” he said, hoping to ease some of his friend’s fears and stem any further control Black might take through Jon’s heightened emotions.

Jon just shook his head, the black trailing across his cheeks in some twisted version of tear tracks. “No.” he said. “You aren’t, not now. You died, and you could again. I don’t know what I’d do if you died again. You're my best friend.”

The revelation was something that so far hadn’t been said between the two, but that didn’t make it any less true. Best friend was a term Damian had been trying to figure out for a while now, but from his research and watching of Grayson and West together he’d realized it was a term that did fit his relationship with Jon. Even as new as it was they clicked in a way Damian hadn’t with other kids. He couldn’t figure out if it was because of their fathers or the similarity in their lives being topsy turvy things, but for better or worse they were best friends.

“We are best friends, and that’s why it’s important you realize how much I appreciate your worry, but Jon, I’m not going to stop being in danger just because of it.” Damian told him.

“Even so, I promise I’ll be fine.”

Jon’s hands went to Damian’s shoulders, his expression had gone strangely calm. Damian wanted to brush the black off his face, but he had no idea what touching it would do, either to Jon or himself. 

“I know that. I’m not asking you to stop putting yourself in danger.”

“Then why did you bring me here?” Damian asked. “Medical needs could have been taken care of at the cave.”

“They can’t take care of you, not like I can.” Jon explained.

Damian’s eyes narrowed and he stepped back, out of Jon’s grip, the back of his legs pressing against the table. “Your ten, Jon. There’s no way you can take care of me better than my brother, Pennyworth, or your father.”

“No, I can.” Jon said, wiping his face and smearing black onto the back of both hands. His voice was an eager rush to explain. “Not the same way as them, but what I can do will make it so they don’t have to take care of you. You won’t get hurt anymore, and you’ll be so strong you can be safe on your own.” Jon was speaking with his hands, turning them in circles as the words poured out of them, lines of black trialed his veins on his hands and wrist.

Damian was starting to think he knew what Jon was getting at, and he didn’t like it. He was talking like Black had, about being other and better than everyone else. The ooze on his skin was warping his mind, twisting his thoughts into one direction, the one Black wanted. Damian had no idea if it was the man himself behind the ooze or it’s own darkness, but he needed to get it off Jon. How he hadn’t quite figured out yet, he didn’t want to actually touch it and risk infecting himself, but maybe if he could get Jon to realize what was going on he could get somewhere, he just had to get him to listen first.

“Don’t be stupid, no matter how strong I get I can be hurt. Everyone get’s hurt, it’s part of being human. Every day is filled with as much danger as the next, I could just as soon get in a car accident as I could be killed by a masked crazie.” Damian sighed. “That’s why we’re supposed to enjoy the time we have, you can’t do that if you spend it all worrying about those you love.”

Jon shook his head. “You don’t understand. I can make it so that doesn’t happen anymore.”

“And what if I want to stay the same?” Damian asked, crossing his arms. “What if I’m happy with the way I am now? I told you about my powers, how they changed me then, and how the worst part about having them was that I couldn’t feel, I wasn’t myself anymore. I like who I am.”

“You just think you do. I promise, Damian, this will be better.” Jon told him.

Damian crossed his arms, “Being stuck here will be better? I don’t see how.”

Jon waved him off, “No, this is just to keep you safe.”

“And away from my family.” Damian said, setting his mouth in a hard line.

“Just until your better.” Jon explained.

“I am not sick, Jon.” Damian pointed at him, “I’m not fragile, and I’m not going to stay here and help fuel your delusions.” He made to push past Jon, but instead found a hand pressed into his chest.

The pressure was light, but firm enough to spark a reminder of the pain he’d felt there hours ago, and he gritted his teeth at it. It was no proof of what Jon was talking about, just a reminder to be more careful. He didn’t mind the pain, it meant he could feel other things, like warm sun on his skin, and the chill of Gotham’s nights. Grayson’s hugs and the way Father would ruffle his hair. The longer he’d been invulnerable, the more those feelings were muted, if at all there. His skin had been like iron, his emotions weighed down with power running through his veins. He’d loved it at the time, but now that he’d been away from it the whole thing was a distant memory. A happy accident he was content with being temporary.

Something chilled his chest where Jon’s hand was and Damian looked down. Black tendrils were snaking off Jon’s fingers and onto his chest, the cold, the freezing touch enough to steal his breath. He jumped back, away from the black and stumbled over the table, his back crashing into the solid wood, the accident knocking what breath he’d pulled in back out. His head swam, the action upsetting the already tender hold he had on the pain in his head.

He coughed and went to push himself up, only to find Jon lift him and return him to the couch. He couldn’t help but let his body sink in for a moment, the cushions taking the ache out of moving. Then he pushed himself back up to stand on shaky legs.

“See, you need help.” Jon said.

“I need to be in bed so my head will stop pounding like there is an army marching inside.” Damian snapped. “I don’t have time to mess around, Jon. Let me go home, and we can figure things out in the morning.”

“I’m sorry, Damian, but I can’t. I told you, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. I’ve got to go for a little bit, but we can finish talking about this when I get back.” He paused and seemed to stare at nothing for a second before shaking his head, “No, I can’t do that, he’ll be fine.” He muttered to himself.

Damian narrowed his eyes at him. “Jon, what just happened?”

His friend shook his head again. “Look, just rest. Okay?” Then Jon was gone, having sped out of the room before Damian could argue further. The light click of the door closing was last indication of the other boy’s presence.

Damian eyed the table and the blanket and pillows piled there. The temptation was strong to curl up on the couch and sleep off the pain in his head, but by then Jon would be back from wherever he’d gone and Damian would be out of time. The first thing he did was check for his phone. Predictably, Jon had taken it, and his comm. So Damian turned on one of his trackers, it would make it easier for Grayson and Superman to find them, not that he was going to sit and wait for them, he needed to get out of this cabin. He wasn’t going to be waiting around when Jon was ready to infect him with Black’s ooze, he needed to be proactive if he was going to save his friend.

He considered waiting to make sure Jon was gone, but he doubted the boy would have stuck around long after leaving, he probably wanted to get back to Damian as soon as possible. He lumped up two of the blankets on the couch and tucked them under a third, pulling it partially over a pillow as well. The misdirect wouldn’t give him much time, but it might give him what he needed to reach civilization and his family.

He moved to the door, and tried the knob. It turned easily, but the door didn’t open further than a crack. A rattle from outside told him there must be a latch in place, keeping it shut. He muttered a curse and looked up to find his suspicions realized. A metal latch could be seen just above his head.

He found he could manage to slip his hand through the opening, and located a padlock holding the latch in place. That he could pick. Damian dragged a chair over to the door to stand on and even his height with the lock then got to work on it. It was awkward to work the picks through the crack in the door, and his wrists weren’t as nimble but after a few misfires he managed to get it to snap open. He slipped the lock off and flipped the latch away before swinging the door open to reveal a forested area.


	12. Chapter 12

_ You should have restrained him. He will try to escape. _

Jon shook his head, trying to shake off the voice. He’d ignored it when it told him to knock Damian out and tie him up, and he would ignore it now. Damian was his friend, even if he was upset now, eventually he’d understand what Jon had done, and what he had to do. He’d saved Damian from their parents, and now he would save him from every dangerous risk he’d ever take by making him stronger by giving him back his powers.

He tried not to think about what Damian told him about being happier without them. He couldn’t believe that. He was sure he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he’d lost his. Even with their unpredictability and the surprise that came when new ones manifested he still felt more whole, and like himself with them. The idea of losing them was like imagining losing part of himself. He knew Damian had felt that way once. Time had numbed the feeling, but he was sure that the moment his friend’s powers returned he’d understand. He had to.

He felt a little bad locking Damian in the cabin, but he had to make sure no one got in, and that Damian stayed where he was. He’d picked the place as his own hideout when he’d found it while exploring. As far as he could tell it had been abandoned for years, so moving in was little trouble. It was supposed to be like his own fortress of solitude, but he hadn’t gotten around to doing much with it beyond clearing it out and arranging the furniture. Only he knew it’s location, he’d never told his dad, wanting to surprise him when it was finished. Then they’d moved and Jon hadn’t had much of a chance to return.

He hadn’t wanted to introduce Damian to it this way, or have it’s first real use be as a hiding place for his friend, but as he sped towards his apartment in Metropolis, ears tuned for the sounds of either his or Damian’s family, he was happy enough for the anonymity of the cabin. How else would he be able to make sure Damian was safe? He knew that Damian’s brother wouldn’t approve of his actions, and his own dad would tell him it was too dangerous. They’d ask silly questions like: ‘What if Black still has some control?’ or ‘What if it warps Damian’s mind?’ Well, Jon was fine. He’d had the jar in his room for weeks now, and nothing had happened to make him suddenly become evil.

Even the power surging through him, like an imitation of Black’s power hadn’t changed him. He knew what it was like to be changed by it, to feel the surging fury and the desperate drive to do and be more. That feeling that he was the only person capable of saving everyone. He didn’t feel that way now. All he wanted to do was make sure his friend was ok, and stayed that way, and this was the best way to do that.

No sounds were coming from his apartment, and a quick scan with his xray vision told him his room was both unoccupied and the door was closed. He slid his window open and floated inside.

The jar was waiting for him when he got to his bookshelf. It called to him, the promise of power and safety. Of being more than what was expected. He lifted the jar, and the glass chilled his hands. Compared to the atmosphere of the room it was freezing.

Jon stared at it for a moment, a brief flash of doubt entering his mind as he remembered being with Manchester, and the overwhelming feeling flooding him. The sick twist of his gut, the sharp pain in his mind, and the sheer terror that filled him then. Did he want to subject Damian to that? Would that even be how his friend felt?

The ooze had been acting on Manchester’s orders then, and Jon had been terrified in his own right. He’d had to watch his dad fight a losing battle. He was stuck thinking his mother was seriously hurt, unsure of what was going on, and in the clutches of a crazed man with a grudge against his dad. He knew all that had to do with how he’d reacted to it. It was exactly how he’d been made to feel.

He had no intention of doing that to Damian. His friend wouldn’t be scared or hurting, and once Jon could get him to understand how this would be better for him he’d be happy to have his powers back. The process would be easy, especially if he was willing to let the ooze do it’s work.

The ooze seemed to pulse in response to Jon’s thoughts, the jar growing colder for a moment, the black inside swelling like a lung taking in breath before settling back onto the rag. It chilled Jon, more than just the cold, but then there was a whisper at the back of his mind in that voice he was growing used to.

_ It will be fine. _

It would. Damian would be fine, and Jon would. But he needed to hurry back. The sooner he fixed his friend the better.

He snuck out of his room, letting the window shut silently behind him before heading back in the direction of the cabin. The night air chilled his skin as he flew, making him happy of the long sleeves on his jacket, and tempting him to wrap his cape around himself for further warmth.

He landed in front of the cabin and adjusted the jar to hold it with one hand before unlocking the padlock on the door. He slipped it into his pocket before swinging the door open.

“I’m back.” He said, keeping his voice quiet in case Damian was sleeping. There was no immediate response from the bulk on the couch. He guessed his friend had taken his advice and decided to get some rest. 

He smiled, and set the jar on the counter, happy his friend had at least come around to the point of being willing to take some of Jon’s advice. After some sleep he’d be more receptive to the rest of what Jon had to say, he knew it.

The quiet stillness of the cabin bothered Jon. Something was off about it. Yes, it should be quiet but Jon should have been able to pick up Damian’s breathing, or a rustle of blanket as he shifted. Panic shot through him, there was no heartbeat beyond his own in the cabin, no movement of air aside from the escalating breaths Jon’s chest was producing.

He was at the couch in a second, hand flinging the blanket away to find more blankets. He threw those off, even knowing exactly what had happened. The pillow was next, crashing into a wall, followed by cushions that sprayed their filling as they were flung. Jon stopped just short of flipping the couch over, a loose nail in the bottom giving his finger enough of a jolt to snap him out of his fury.

_ I told you he would try to escape. _

“Shut up.” he hissed at the voice. Jon did not want to play the blame game. He wanted to find his friend.

Damian was out there somewhere, by himself, in a place he wasn’t familiar with, with a head wound. Jon should have known he’d try to get away, he should have listened. But he’d trusted Damian, trusted his friend would have enough faith in him to at least wait.

He’d been wrong, but he was going to fix that. He’d find Damian, and bring him back, by force if he needed to. He obviously wasn’t thinking straight, and he was putting himself in unnecessary danger. He spun and ran out of the cabin, pausing only to grab a flashlight before he left, his ears already searching for the sound of his friend’s heartbeat.

* * *

Damian was frustrated by his progress, even in the dark he’d thought he would have made it further than he had. But the forest was a mess of trees and false paths. Everything looked the same in the dim light of the moon, and Damian refused to turn on a flashlight in case it helped Jon find him. Not that the other boy wouldn’t be able to hunt him down without that.

It was his name, shouted through the trees that gave him pause.

“Damian!”

Damian turned for a second to see who’d called him before breaking into a run of his own through the trees, stumbling over roots and rocks. He could hear Jon as he chased after him, cutting the distance between them with every stride. Then his friend hit him from behind in a lunge, tackling them both to the ground.

Damian knew he wasn’t going to get away again if he didn’t play dirty so he yelped, playing on Jon’s already high strung worry. It worked, his friend jumped off of him faster than Damian had seen him move all day.

He scrambled to his feet, and bolted back through the trees. Jon lunged again, and caught Damian’s wrist, pulling him back. He stumbled from the shock of losing momentum and almost fell.

“Stop it!” Jon shouted.

“Let me go!” Damian yanked his hand back.

“No. Listen to me, you can’t just run off like this, Damian. I trusted you!” Jon’s face was red, but this time there were no tears, just anger adding color to his face.

“I betrayed no trust. You know I didn’t want to stay, and I asked you to let me go home. You can’t make me do this, Jon.” he pulled again, hoping that Jon would let go, but his friend’s grip stayed firm.

It had been a long time since Damian had held any fear of his friend. He was aware that part of him should be, to spend time with a super powered kid was a danger in itself, to call himself friend could be deemed even more dangerous. He was the son of one of Earth’s most powerful protectors, that thought alone should have had some rooted fear. But it had been long washed away as he’d gotten to know the other kid.

Jon was like his father, he had a good heart and his intention was always to help. Father would have told Damian he was being silly, letting his guard drop completely around the kid. He knew for certain that Father had contingency plans in the event Superman ever decided to turn away from doing good. Damian couldn’t bring himself to feel the same. It was foolish, and stupid, but a part of him had wanted to trust Jon the same way he trusted Grayson, fully and without reservation. Now he was starting to think he had been wrong.

He was still certain that Jon would never hurt him, not seriously nor on purpose. But his lack of restraint worried him. It was obviously the work of Black, and like the first time Jon had dealt with the other man’s powers he was growing more dangerous. He still seemed to hold onto his ideas of right and wrong, but Damian wondered how long that would last if one of the people he cared about were in danger. Or if he resisted his friend’s ‘suggestion’ for much longer.

“We were supposed to talk about it when I got back.” Jon snapped. “You couldn’t have waited for me? I thought we were friends, friends talk, Damian. Or don’t you understand that either?”

Damian flinched at Jon’s words. He was still learning a lot of things about relating with people better, but he’d always thought Jon didn’t mind picking up the slack. He’d assumed his friend enjoyed making him experience new things. Had he always harbored such resentment? There must be some in him, Black’s influence so far had been simply that, influence. As far as Damian could tell he hadn't made his friend do anything he himself had not considered.

“We talk.” Damian said.

“No, you talk, I follow. That’s the way it’s been since we met. You never listen to me, Damian. This is important, but I’ve realized that even now you won’t hear me out. So, I’m done talking.” Jon yanked Damian back towards him.

He couldn’t help but yelp for real this time, the pressure on his arm hurt. The pain was short lived however when he found himself flung over Jon’s shoulder, the boy’s arm tight around his waist to hold him in place. He struggled to get away but Jon’s grip only tightened putting on pressure that was close to painful.

“Jon, stop this. Just stop and listen.” Damian tried, but Jon seemed to be staying true to his word as he silently took them both back to the cabin.

Damian tried with no luck to get through to Jon over the course of the walk, but nothing seemed to break his friend’s resolve. Damian couldn’t see his face, so he had no idea what was working and what wasn’t as he tried explaining why this was a bad idea, and appealing to Jon’s sensibilities, he’d even yelled at him a few times. Damian was pretty sure that had made things worse, but he was genuinely frightened. He’d never seen Jon this way before, and the thought of that ooze, spreading across his skin and doing who knew what to his mind sent shivers of fear through him. He’d been controlled before, and it had not been pleasant. He didn’t have Grayson here to help this time, and he was terrified of what the ooze might pull out of him.

He had changed, he knew this. He was a better person than he had been when he’d first arrived in Gotham, that was thanks to his friends and family, and his own resolve to be better. But the terrible things he’d done, the person he’d been? Those were still inside him, memories and habits he’d mostly taken care of, but still there, buried beneath who he was now. He was terrified that those would be what were brought to the surface when that ooze touched him. That he’d revert to the person he was and that maybe he wasn’t as good as he thought he was.

Jon opened the cabin door and slammed it behind him as he walked in. Damian could just see him picking up a jar from the counter. It was the same jar he’d had in his room, the one Damian had warned him about. He should have done something with it then, made Jon get rid of it, or told Mr. Kent about it, but he’d listened to Jon, and let his lie about it being safe pass as truth.

There was the clink of glass on wood and Damian was being pulled back over Jon’s shoulder and dropped onto the couch. It was hard beneath him, and his bottom hit a wooden support beam when he landed. The cushions were gone, probably thrown off when Jon had realized Damian was gone.

“Jon, listen to me, please.” He tried again as his friend faced away from him to pick up the jar and open it.

“I told you Damian. I’m done listening.” Jon said, turning back towards him.

Damian couldn’t help but gulp, Jon’s eyes had gone black, his face and chest, arms and hands, were all covered in the color. Even as Damian watched it seeped into his clothes. He wondered if this was how Black had originally intended things to go, if this progression was what he’d planned for Jon before Superman had forced him to speed up his plans. And now Damian had done it, he’d helped infect his friend with darkness and terror.

He almost thought he deserved what was about to happen as Jon pressed him back into the couch and dumped a jar full of black all over him.


	13. Chapter 13

Jon wasn’t sure how he’d known exactly what to do with the ooze, but he did. It was like the voice was guiding his hands now to open the jar. Warm air flooded the inside of the glass in his hands and the ink inside swelled, devouring the rag and filling every inch of space. Instinct told him it would only keep growing.

When he poured it over Damian he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, but his friend screaming had not been in his thoughts. Bloodcurdling, and painful to his own ears, Jon immediately thought he’d made a mistake. He wanted to pull it off Damian and hurl it into the sun. It was not supposed to hurt, not like this, not his friend.

 _It will be fine._ The voice told him. _This is only temporary._

The words eased the terror in his mind and Jon let himself breathe again. Still he had to step away from Damian as he writhed against the ooze. Why couldn’t he see that this was better? That if he’d let go everything would be ok. Jon’s fists clenched at his side, even now his friend still refused to listen.

_Control it._

He blinked at the thought, how? What would controlling it do? Would it make things easier for Damian?

_Just try, you have the power._

With that Jon realized he did, he could control it. He looked at Damian and the soaking mess of black all over him and thought at it. Told it to find his friend, to move inside and find the powers buried deep within him.

It began to move, each splashed arm spreading and searching, moving across Damian’s skin seeking to do as it was told.

Jon flinched back when Damian’s screaming got worse, was it pain, or rebellion that tore the sounds from his throat? If he’d just let go, just listen. The black seemed to respond to Jon’s frustration, moving faster even as Damian’s hands tried to pull it away. It circled his fingers, keeping them from gripping while other parts continued their search.

Soon, it wouldn’t be long. Damian couldn’t fight it forever, and then this would be over. He’d be better, he’d be stronger, and they could continue fighting together. He’d understand. Jon knew he would.

“Jonathan, Damian!”

His dad’s voice made him jump. He spun on his foot to find both Superman and Nightwing in the cabin. How had they found him? Jon’s attention snapped back to Damian, he must have had some other way of contacting them he hadn’t accounted for.

“Jon, what happened, what’s going on. Is that--” his dad broke off, his face clouding over at the sight of Jon. “Where is he?”

Jon stepped aside so Damian was in plain view. “Damian’s right here, he’ll be okay. I promise.” he explained.

Nightwing’s face paled at the sight of his brother writhing on the couch, his screams having quieted against gritted teeth and a focused crease to his brow as his back arched against the ooze. Jon could still feel it, trying to find purchase in Damian, wishing the boy would just let it sink into his skin.

“Not Damian, Black.” Superman growled, and turned to look at the rest of the room. “Where are you Manchester, how dare you start this again!” it was a roar through the room that made Jon clap his hands over his ears.

“Dad, he’s not here. He’s still locked up, remember?” Jon said.

Superman looked back at him confused.

“None of the sensors we put on his chamber have gone off.” Nightwing said.

“Then how? Tell me, Jon how did you and Damian get this way?” Worry and fear laced his dad’s voice now, and Jon hurried to explain and quell that fear.

He picked the jar back up and showed it to the adults. “I found some of his ooze when packing and sealed it in here. I’ve had it with me since we moved. Something--” Jon broke off unsure how to explain the voice and how he knew what to do, “Something told me that this would be the best way to help Damian, to make sure he never got hurt again.”

“He’s hurting now.” Nightwing said, and Jon almost flinched at the anger in his tone.

“It’s temporary, as soon as the ooze is done he’ll be fine. Better than that. It’s going to give him his powers back.” Jon smiled at this, “Then he’ll be safe from anything.”

Nightwing stepped forward and pointed at Jon. “No, you let him go now. Get that stuff off him, those powers are gone, Jon and not coming back. This is only going to hurt him.”

“He’s right son, Damian’s powers were only temporary. This-” Superman waved at them both. “Isn’t going to help, please listen to us. If you can do something about this, do it. You’re stronger than someone who gives into shortcuts like this.”

Jon hesitated, glancing back at his friend then looking back at the men who’d come to help them both.

_Don’t. This is what’s best for him. They’re lying about the powers, you know that, you can feel that they are there._

Jon could, the ooze had found a glimmer of power and was trying to get to it, focusing it’s attention on a spot close to Damian’s heart. Even so his friend was doing his best to resist the prodding.

“I’m sorry.” Jon said. “I can’t. He needs this.”

Damian gasped as Jon put his own energy into the ooze, strengthening it. He could feel it surge and expand again.

Nightwing stalked towards them. “If you won’t do it, I’ll help him.” he said, fury and worry mixing in his voice. “It’s ok, Damian, I’m coming.”

Jon darted forward, making himself a shield in front of Damian. “No, you can’t touch him, you’ll ruin everything.”

“I’m only trying to help. Now move.” Nightwing told him.

 _They don’t want to help._ The voice said. _They’re going to make you stop, and it will be their fault this doesn't work. Like it was their fault he kept getting hurt._

Their fault? Jon had though it had been his own, and Damian’s, but perhaps it had been their fault. They were the adults. They were supposed to help. Dick hadn’t done proper research when they’d gone out together, and again he hadn’t stopped Damian from rushing into danger. He’d done nothing but put rules on Damian’s time and life everyone knew he’d defy. And Superman. Jon’s own dad hadn’t been any better. He’d promised to help and he hadn’t. He hadn’t stopped Ricardelly or kept Damian from getting hurt again. All they’d done is fail both him and Damian.

Jon let his eyes heat up, the threat of a red glow filling them. “No. Neither of you have been any help. It’s your fault Damian keeps getting hurt. Your fault any of this was even necessary.”

“Jon, stop.” his dad said, hurrying over to him, “Please, we know we’ve both messed up, but let us help this time. We want to.”

His voice was gentle, his words careful as he put both hands on Jon’s shoulders. “Please, kiddo.”

His hands were warm, and seemed to chip away at the cold anger stuck in Jon. He wanted to lean into them, and fall into his dad’s chest and let all his fear go like he had when he’d woken up after their fight with Crane.

Nightwing tried to step around them, and move towards Damian, worry evident in the line of his mouth. He hadn’t seemed to be so worried about them with Crane. He’d let Damian get hurt, and let Jon take the fear gas.

He pulled away from his dad and pushed the table, crashing it into Nightwing’s legs, knocking the vigilante down.

“No. I can’t trust either of you. You’re only going to make things worse, and if you keep trying to interfere, I’m going to have to stop you.”

* * *

The first thing Damian thought was that the ooze was cold. Breathlessly, painfully cold. Then he thought he remembered there being a rag in the jar, but nothing like that had hit him, only slippery inky black that flooded over his hair and face, and dripped onto his chest.

He wiped at the ooze on his face, the cold burning his hand. He screamed as it all moved to his chest, like a freezing weight running across his body only to press him down into the couch.

His fingers clawed at it. He felt like he was being drowned and suffocated at the same time, but air still came easily into his lungs. None of the black had burrowed into him, and into his veins. Not like it had done with Jon, but that didn’t stop it from trying.

Beyond the pain there was a presence in his mind, a smooth voice, tempered by soft tones and chilling cold. One that whispered to him to let go, to stop his struggle against the black, that all the pain would go away the moment he relaxed. Damian refused the voice, yelling back at it in his own mind even as his breath was stolen by screams wrenched from him as the ooze stabbed into him, trying to find a place it could worm its way through.

It travelled across his chest, twisted around his arms to encircle his wrists. It froze him from the front and behind, a trail of it chilling his spine to explore the nape of his neck. He couldn’t make it stop, only keep his focus on preventing it from digging into him. It was like it had a mind, searching across him for something.

Then the blind focus the ooze had seemed to ease and Damian found he could breathe again. He grit his teeth against the pain and tried to will it away from him. Voices floated to him from across the room. Dulled by the pain in his head and body, by the cold, and the black. He cracked his eyes open to find his brother and Superman had entered the cabin. Relief washed over him, they’d found him.

The idea that they could help gave him strength to push harder against the invading ooze. Even so he tried to tune his ears to what was being said. Superman was angry, so was his brother. Jon was doing a lot of talking. Then the ooze seemed to double across him, the cold getting worse, Damian gasped against the pain and renewed strength. Grayson was saying his name, and he wanted to call back to him but a hiss escaped instead as a tendril of ooze tightened around one of his wrists.

Everyone was fighting then. Damian was helpless to watch as suddenly Grayson’s approach was stopped by the table. Then Jon attacked his father, and it was chaos, screaming and fighting, Damian was sure something terrible was going to happen, he had to help, he had to stop Jon. But what could he do against the anger in his friend’s voice?

“Jon.” his name was a croak in Damian’s voice, but it gave the boy pause and he turned.

“Damian?”

“Stop it, please. It’s not their fault.” Damian coughed out the words, hoping they were loud enough to hear. His chest was on fire from the cold, the weight pressing any air out of him. “It’s my fault, I dragged us into trouble and I got us hurt. Don’t be mad at them.”

Jon shook his head. “It’s their fault.”

“No.” Damian put some strength into the word. “It’s not. We both know it’s mine.”

Jon frowned. “Why do you keep fighting?”

Damian almost thought he was talking in general terms, but even as far gone as Jon seemed that was too out of context for him. He wanted to say because this ooze was stupid and would rot his brain, but he had a better idea.

“To show you it’s possible. You can fight it too.” Damian was pretty sure Jon hadn’t even realized the extent of the black on his own skin. If he had he would have used it when trying to convince Damian to let it take over.

The surprise on his friend’s face was enough to confirm the thought. “Can’t you see?” Damian coughed. “It’s just like the last time Manchester hurt you, even your outfit is black.”

Something must be happening because the oppressive cold and pressure of the ooze started to ease, and Damian could get his lungs filled again. “Don’t let him influence you anymore.”

“That’s right, you don’t have to be afraid, Jon. Please, let us help. Fight the black and come back.” Clark added.

Damian wanted to nod his approval at Superman’s words, but the easing of the cold was only a little. His attention had been gone too long from the ooze and it was working its way up his face, towards the bandage Jon had put over his cut.

He saw Jon blinking at his father, his eyes almost normal again. Then Grayson was kneeling by Damian, a hand hovering above his shoulder, like he was afraid to touch him. Damian wanted to reach out, but he wasn’t sure what would happen. The ooze was still trying, still freezing, and that voice was back.

It wasn’t gentle anymore or smooth, there was no soft temptation to give in. It was harsh and cruel and angry. Filling Damian’s mind and making him cry out against it, both hands going to his head as it raged.

Then there was a sharp pain in Damian’s temple and fire and ice raged in his skull, cold tearing through his veins and the voice louder and louder in him building until Damian blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys! After this there's maybe two chapters left and an epilogue, I really hope you're enjoying the fic. I should be keeping up the daily updates until it's finished, so be on the lookout for new stuff.


	14. Chapter 14

It was like a rubber band snapping, the way Jon’s mind cleared. The fear, anger, and distrust was gone like a vapor even as Jon had been fighting it. For the first time in weeks, maybe even since he’d found that stupid ooze, Jon felt like his thoughts were clear.

His dad was beaming at him from where he’d knelt in front of him, and Jon smiled back. If he was ok, did that mean Damian was too? He felt a stab of guilt for putting everyone in this position, but if things were ok now he could apologize.

He turned and gasped. Nightwing was backing away from Damian. His friend was glowing with a black light, hovering above the couch. His skin was lined with black, his eyes hollowed out with the color, and his uniform washed through with it.

“Damian?” Jon asked.

A twisted smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “Not available, I’m afraid. Can I take a message?”

Damian’s accent had changed, the English tones that were usually only hinted at in his voice coming out stronger than Jon was used to, in an accent that slightly differed from Damian’s. It dropped cold fear into Jon’s stomach, the accent was too familiar. He hadn’t heard it often, or much, but it was a voice Jon would never forget.

“Manchester.” His dad stood, leaving a protective hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Let him go.”

“Jon, do something.” Nightwing demanded, turning on him.

“I-I can’t.” Jon stammered. “I can’t feel the ooze anymore, it’s not in my head.”

“That’s because it’s all right where it belongs, Mate. Right here.” Damian, or Black said, patting his chest. “I couldn’t keep splitting my time between you two, not with you both fighting me, so I picked one.” He grinned, “I’ve gotta say, this little one’s got more potential tucked away in ‘im than I thought.”

“What do you mean potential?” Nightwing asked.

“We’ve got you locked away, how did you escape?” Clark asked, in the next moment.

Black floated down to perch on the back of the couch, kicking Damian’s legs against he plush backing. “Now now, boys. Not everyone at once. There might be two of us in ‘ere, but only ones gonna answer.”

Nightwing took a step forward but Jon’s dad held a hand out to stop him, head shaking a no.

“My ‘incarceration’ is the reason I’m even here. Can’t be seen running around as myself now can I? When you all teamed up to beat me, I left my essence scattered in a few things. I can’t thank you enough for picking me up and taking me home, Jonny Boy, who thought our connection would’ve been so useful?” He grinned.

Jon shuddered at hearing the nickname come from Damian’s voice. Accent or not it still sounded like his friend, and coiled the guilt in his stomach even worse. This was all his fault. If he’d only told his dad about the ooze, or talked to someone about his nightmares. Even if he’d listened to Damian for a moment and waited on his stupid, stupid, plan they wouldn’t be here right now.

“So why Damian? If you were already connected with Jon, wouldn’t it be easier to control him?” Nightwing asked.

“I told you.” He said drawing out the o in told like it was a slur, “The boy’s got potential, and I’m never one to ignore potential.”

“You listened in on our conversations, and overheard me talking to him about his powers, and the chaos shard.” Jon said, getting angry. “You convinced me to hurt Damian, to let you get ahold of him. You used me again, and I let you.”

“Right ‘O Jonny, I got enough info to know exactly who I wanted to pick to be my next protégé.”

Jon couldn’t take it, watching Damian, glowing and grinning at him, kicking his feet against the couch, and so not like himself. Manchester talking through him. Jon had experienced Manchester’s voice in his head when he’d filled him with rage and despair. What was Damian feeling? Was he even conscious of everything going on around them? Jon had been, but he hadn’t been this far under Manchester’s control, he hadn’t been possessed.

“He is not your protégé. You’re controlling him and I won’t let it happen.” Jon said, his eyes lighting up. “Either let my friend go, or I’m going to make you.”

Black laughed, a gross version of one of Damian’s, and it only served to boil the rage in Jon hotter. Damian should only laugh when he was happy, really truly happy. It was rare and precious and beautiful. This was not.

“’ave you forgotten? I know what your powers are like, to their fullest extent. And I know you can’t match me.” Black jumped off the back of the couch and onto the bare seat. “Go ahead, give it your best shot, mate.”

“He’s got more than just his powers, Black. I’m not going to let you hurt that boy any more than I let you hurt Jon.”

“And you did such a good job of that didn’t you, Superman? You let your boy here think his mum’s leg had been severed, then you let me have a tinker inside his head.” He shrugged. “I ‘aven’t got much faith in either of ya.”

With that he charged at Clark, flying into him fast enough to send them both crashing into the kitchenette near the front of the cabin. Jon went to follow but Nightwing’s hand reached out and stopped him.

Jon turned to look at him, ready to demand he let go and help. His face was fury, like exactly what Jon would picture if it were personified. Jon could feel the anger flowing off him, the worry for Damian evident in how tight his shoulders were.

“His powers are going to keep him from feeling much, but that’s not going to matter. Wear Black down.” Dick said, looking him in the eyes. The intensity of his gaze made Jon gulp.

“Damian’s powers had a short lifespan because they were charged by Darkseid’s power, the moment Black’s out of energy they’ll short and cut out altogether.” His voice was clipped, the words orders that Jon didn’t dare disobey.

There was a crash and both of them looked to find a hole in one of the walls, showing trees outside. Superman flying up, supposedly after Black. Jon almost darted after him again, but Nightwing’s grip stayed firm.

“Do not let up on him, drain them as fast as you can, then get him within my reach. I’ll get him out of Damian.”

The way he said it made Jon shiver. He didn’t know what Dick had planned for Manchester, but he was very happy he wasn’t the one who’d decided to possess Dick’s little brother. His own fury at the villain felt pale compared to Dick’s. Damian had told him about his brother getting angry. Those stories usually involved an explosive kind of anger coming from him. Jon was pretty sure this was worse than that.

Nightwing’s hand left his shoulder and Jon ran towards where his dad and had disappeared through the hole. He felt a bite of disappointment at the destruction. Jon would have time to mourn his hiding place later, but for now he darted through it and outside.

He looked up and found them flying, crashing through the trees above him. Jon rose to follow, glancing back once to see Nightwing emerging as well. He shot upwards, and to his father’s side. There was a moment of hesitation in him over fighting his friend. He’d spent so much time and energy trying to keep him safe, trying to keep him from getting hurt.

And look where it got them, in worse trouble than anything Damian had dragged them into so far. Jon couldn’t even imagine what his friend was going through, if he was even conscious within Black’s hold. Nightwing had said he’d be fine, that his powers would keep him from feeling the brunt of their attacks. Damian had said as much about his powers before. Jon just needed to trust that, and get his friend back.

He added his heat vision to his dad’s. Together they’d wear Black down faster than if it were just one of them. Jon hated it, but he hoped that Damian’s already tired state from both his head wound and fighting the ooze would help add to the drain on his powers.

He ignored Black’s taunts and jeers, ignored it when he said how much fun he was having fighting them, and ignored the way he said it would break Damian to find out what he’d done to his friends. It was all static meant to distract him, to make him fail. Manipulation that Jon refused to allow purchase in his mind anymore.

They fought until the sky was purple with the inching in of dawn. With the light came a boost to both Jon and his dad’s powers and a faltering of Black’s. It started with his own heat vision fizzling, and then he fell a foot before catching himself.

The scowl on his face told Jon they were winning. He looked below him at Nightwing, who’d been adding his own efforts to the fight whenever they were within any kind of reach, from batarangs to hand to hand combat. He’d noticed the fluctuation as well.

Black flew at Jon, throwing a punch he easily caught.

“It’s no fun when you lose your powers is it?” Jon asked with a grin.

He blew a freezing breath in Black’s direction that he scrambled back from with a cry. It sounded so much like Damian’s then, without the accent or forced control Jon’s heart skipped a beat thinking it might be his friend. But the glare he received when the air cleared told him otherwise.

“This is wrong.” Black said. “He isn’t _you_. His powers should be stable.”

Superman appeared behind him, and grabbed him, pressing him close. “You’re right, Black. He’s not Jon. He might be stable, but his powers always had a limited lifespan, once they were drained they were gone.”

Black writhed against his hold, but couldn’t break free. His eyes widened for a moment before narrowing into black slits. “Fine. If he’s out of juice I’ll move somewhere else.”

“Dad!” Jon shouted as the inky black on Damian’s skin reached out to latch onto Superman’s.

Instead of dropping him or swatting at the ink, Superman pulled them both to the ground where Dick was waiting. Jon followed, landing close by as Superman looped his arms under Damian’s, pulling some of the black from himself in the process.

“Sorry about this.” Dick said, and shoved the end of one of his escarmas around one of the spots on Damian’s chest thickest with the ooze. It lit up with electricity and Black screamed, the ooze rippling, pulling back on itself against the electricity.

The moment the majority of it had collected around it, pooling and wrapping its way up the stick, Dick yanked it back, pulling the ooze along with it. Damian’s voice cut off and he fell back into Superman’s arms, unconscious. Dick kept the electricity going long enough to shove the almost liquid ooze into a collapsible bag he’d pulled out, sealing it the moment he’d shoved the escarma inside.

Jon wasn’t sure a bag was going to hold the ooze any better than his jar had, but then he noticed the way it bulged when the ooze pushed back, the tight stitching and reinforced fabric it was made of. It was probably lined with something super strong on the inside too.

“Got him.” Dick sighed.

Jon looked over at his dad, who’d sat down and had Damian cradled in his lap. His friend’s face was washed out. His heartbeat so slow, and Jon almost thought he wasn’t breathing.

“Is he going to be alright?” He asked, guilt swamping him for what they’d done to Damian, for what he’d made them do.

“He’ll be fine. He’s just tired.” His dad said as he carefully picked the last, now inert, tendrils of goo off Damian. He rolled them into a clump that fit in his palm before disintegrating it with his laser vision.

“That’s the end of that.” he said.

Dick held the bag out towards him. “Trade? I’m sure you’ll want to keep this on ice.”

Clark nodded, “Go ahead and hand it to Jon, he’ll keep it safe.”

Jon gulped and took the bag from Nightwing. He couldn’t feel anything coming off it, but he didn’t want to be around it longer than necessary, he’d learned his lesson and refused to make the same mistake twice. His dad could take it wherever he wanted to, he could toss it into the sun for all Jon cared. He didn’t want to see it ever again.

His dad stood, and handed his unconscious cargo over to Dick, who pulled his brother close to his chest. One of Damian’s arms wrapped around Dick’s neck and he groaned. His eyes slitting open. Jon was relieved to see green blinking sleepily over Dick’s shoulder.

“Grayson?”

Dick’s gloved hand rubbed Damian’s back comfortingly. “Hey kiddo, you’re alright, go back to sleep, and we’ll get you taken care of.”

Damian sighed and nodded into the shoulder before letting his eyes slip shut again.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this there is an epilogue and that's it! I've really enjoyed writing this and seeing everyone's sweet comments. Thanks so much for following this fic all the way.

Jon vaulted between terrified and guilty the whole way back to the cave. Damian’s heartbeat was too slow. His breathing too shallow. He wasn’t listening to anything either his dad or Dick had to say. He’d decided on his own that Damian was going to die, and it was his fault.

Beyond his moment of consciousness after they’d gotten Black out of him, Damian hadn’t stirred.  _ At all _ . He refused to even listen to Alfred until the man showed him test results he didn’t understand and had to have them explained to him.

And then they’d waited. For hours. His dad eventually convinced Jon to at least shower and Alfred’s food was so tempting he had an early breakfast or really late dinner, or whatever it was. He’d eaten, and felt guilty because Damian couldn’t while he was out cold.

His friend couldn’t do anything but recover. He couldn’t enjoy it when Dick brought Titus down to lay with him, or when the cat curled up on his chest. He didn’t get to shower and wash off the traces of ooze that might be lingering on his skin, or enjoy Alfred’s cooking with Jon.

And it was all Jon’s fault. He sat at his friend’s bedside, confident it would be hours before he woke up and wallowed. His dad offered to let him go with him to the Fortress to lock up the rest of the ooze but Jon didn’t even want the comfort of watching it be sealed away. He didn’t want any soothing.

He really let himself wallow when everyone was gone. Dick and Alfred had gone upstairs for their own breaks, and to tell Damian’s dad about the night’s events. His dad was away with the ooze, leaving Jon alone with his friend and the ever patient Titus.

He’d sat on the floor and sobbed into Titus’s side until he was out of tears. The dog let him soak his fur with tears before liking them off his cheeks and teasing a giggle out of him. He’d pushed back, away from Titus with a firm shake of his head.

“No, no cheering me up. I don’t deserve it right now.”

Titus tilted his head at him, but turned to run towards footsteps coming down the cave’s steps. Jon wiped his face in a hurry and scrambled back into the chair he’d been occupying up till then.

It was Dick, followed by Damian’s dad. Both of them looked angry and Mr. Wayne was asking where someone was.

“It’s not just his fault. It’s mine too.” Dick told him, stepping backwards so he could move and face his dad.

“He should have known. Black’s influence should have been easy to spot. I told him—”

“What to look for? Maybe to do an extra sweep of the farm before they left. I’m sure he did all of those things and more, Bruce. What’s done is done.”

Jon realized they weren’t talking about him, but his own dad then and tried his best to disappear. If the grown ups were talking he didn’t want to end up the source of their ire. He was already blaming himself enough as it was. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see what Damian’s dad’s fury was like first hand.

But the conversation quickly turned into an argument, yelling and screaming to a degree Jon hadn’t experienced before. He kept glancing over his shoulder, afraid they might either wake Damian or start hitting each other. Damian had told him that sometimes Dick and his dad fought, and it wasn’t anything to really worry about. They were both too hard headed to listen to each other without a good yelling match, but Jon found he couldn’t let it go on any longer.

He jumped off the chair and threw himself in between them, hoping his voice would be heard above the din. “I’m sorry, it’s my fault. Don’t be mad at Mr. Grayson, he saved Damian. If you’re going to be mad at someone be mad at me, I’m the one who hurt him.”

The shouting stopped instantly, and Damian’s dad looked down at him shocked for a moment before he knelt before him, his face the total opposite of what it had been, now gentle and worried.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were still down here. Dick said you were going to leave with your dad to make sure Black was firmly sealed away.”

Jon hiccupped. “I wanted to stay with Damian in case he woke up. Are you mad?”

Bruce shook his head. “I’m not mad that you stayed, and I don’t blame you, Jon.” He put a hand on Jon’s shoulder, he never realized how heavy Mr. Wayne’s hands were.

“I was yelling because I was worried for both you and Damian. Neither of you should have had to deal with this, it’s your dad’s and my job to make sure your both safe, and we messed up this time. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Wayne, but Damian is right. You wouldn't have to apologize all the time if you didn't yell so much.” Jon said.

Bruce blanched at him, at a loss for words. Jon wasn't sure if he'd said something to make him angry so he rushed to change the subject.

“I am really sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. I just wanted Damian to be safe.”

Bruce recovered himself enough to smile at him again. “With you as a friend, I'm sure he always will be.”

* * *

Damian's head felt like it was going to split open. He refused to open his eyes. He didn't care if he was in the darkest room on the planet, anything felt like too much to subject his head to processing.

Whatever he was laying on was soft at least. He was hoping it wasn't a couch. It didn't feel like a couch. Honestly at this point he probably wouldn't care if it was a couch, anything was fine. His whole body felt laden down with rocks. Why was he so tired? He couldn't imagine why his patrol with Grayson and Jon would have been so exhausting. And had he fallen asleep on patrol? Why didn't he remember moving to his bed or couch, or wherever he was?

“He's awake.” The voice was soft and familiar in the way that Damian knew it, but couldn't place it.

“Don't jostle him, maybe he’ll fall back asleep.”

“Grayson?” Damian cracked his eyes open against everything in his head telling him not to, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Wherever he was had light that was way too bright against the ache in his skull.

He squeezed his eyes shut again and wished the pounding to stop. There was a hand on his arm, warm and grounding. Damian held onto the contact.

“Hey, Baby Bat, the light too much?”

It was Grayson’s voice again and Damian gave him the barest of nods in return.

“We’ll dim them some more, but try to sleep again, alright?” His voice was a gentle whisper. “You’ll feel a lot better when you wake back up.”

Damian tried to nod again, but gave up and instead worked on clearing his mind so he could sleep, but it was buzzing around the pain. He hadn’t placed the other voice yet, but he was sure he was supposed to know it. He was also sure patrol hadn’t gone right, he just couldn’t remember why. Maybe he could ask Jon, then he could go back to sleep.

Jon. The cabin. The ooze. Black. Jon had been covered in the ooze, his brain warped by Black, Damian had to help, he had to make sure his friend was okay. He couldn’t just lay here if Black still had him.

Damian opened his eyes again, and kept them open this time. He didn’t have the energy to sit up, but Grayson was beside him on a chair. He reached up for his brother’s arm, still close by and grabbed it.

He smiled down at him and took his hand, “Sleep. Please.”

Damian shook his head. “Jon. Where is he? Is he-” His head was splitting, “Is he okay?”

Dick moved his other hand to run it through Damian’s hair, and he felt a spark of terror that the next words out of his brother’s mouth were going to be bad.

“He’s fine.”

“Where is he then?” Damian asked, he pulled his hand out of Grayson’s and braced himself on, what he was realizing was a cot, to push himself up. “He’s here, right? I need to see him. I need to know he’s alright. Black--”

“Is taken care of, lay back down.” Dick said.

Something in his voice made Damian let himself fall back against the bed and nod. He couldn’t figure out why his brother was looking at him strangely until he spoke again.

“You sure you don’t want to try to sleep some more?”

“My head is buzzing.” Damian admitted. “But I can’t remember what happened. Just Jon and I in a cabin, he was, Black was manipulating him. He wanted to--” he broke off his head pounding again. “How’d we get back to the cave?”

“Superman flew you back. You just remember Jon in the cabin? Nothing else?” Dick said, the weird tone had returned to his voice and it was worrying Damian.

It was like he was being careful with him and not Jon. What was Damian even doing in bed with a splitting headache? The bump to his head from Ricardelly had not been that bad, and Jon hadn’t hit him. Damian knew that for a fact.

Had he done something?

He tried to remember, pushing past the ache in his head to what happened with Jon. He’d caught Damian sneaking out, and he had something. The jar? Then Damian’s chest felt cold again with the memory and he gasped.

“The ooze. Jon poured it on me.” he shuddered. “It was so cold, Grayson. Like ice trying to dig its way under my skin. I tried to fight it off, but I blacked out.”

Grayson’s hand was in one of his again, his thumb rubbing circles in the skin between his thumb and first finger. The pressure was helping ease the pain in Damian’s head.

“Jon was fighting him because of you.” Dick explained. “So, Black decided he’d just take control of one of you.”

Damian gripped the sheet over him. “Jon?” he asked, worried.

Dick shook his head and Damian felt the color drain from his face. “I didn’t hurt anyone, did I? He didn’t make me hurt Jon or you right?”

Grayson’s thumb shifted slightly to the side and kept rubbing circles. “Everyone is okay, you didn’t hurt any of us.”

Some of the panic in Damian’s chest eased. “What happened?”

“Manchester reactivated your powers.” Dick told him. “We drained them back down and he fled, but we got him. He won’t hurt anyone else. You were pretty exhausted though, you’ve been asleep for around twelve hours.”

“And you want me to sleep more?” Damian scoffed. “It sounds like I’ve had enough.”

“I’m fairly certain you know that’s a lie. You went through a lot, and you’ll be tired for a while longer, especially if you refuse to sleep the rest of it off.” Dick smiled. “Let me go get Jon so you can relax.”

He let go of Damian’s hand, and he missed the soothing motion of his thumb easing the headache away. Grayson stood and turned, but Damian reached out and grabbed his hand to stop him. His brother turned back around.

“Tell him I’m sorry.” he said, something like tears catching his voice. “This is my fault, and I’m sorry.”

“Dames.” Dick sighed. “None of this is your fault.”

Now he might be crying. Damian’s head still hurt too much to care either way. “It is, I made him worry so much Grayson. I did this to him.”

Dick gave him a small smile. “You might be the reigning champ of making people worry, but what happened isn’t your fault. It’s Black’s.” He gently pulled Damian’s hand from his own and set it down. “Jon will tell you the same thing.”

* * *

Jon heard Damian wake up and resisted the urge to run over to his friend or listen in on his conversation with his brother. When Alfred had said something about Damian waking soon Jon had felt suddenly shy and embarrassed. He didn’t want Damian to see him as soon as he woke up, he wasn’t sure he wanted to face Damian at all.

He found a spot in the cave far enough away from Damian to keep an eye on him and to still be out of the way when he woke up. Titus sat next to him, a warm presence he could distract himself with while they waited.

He didn’t deserve to be comforted by Damian's waking. Besides, Damian probably hated him. He’d gotten his best friend possessed, that had to be a deal breaker on friendship, right?

Everyone had tried to convince him that Damian wasn’t going to be mad at him, but he refused to listen. They were wrong. They didn’t know what it was like to have that ooze all over, or to have it try to take over their minds. They had no idea what he’d purposefully put Damian through. He wasn’t going to blame Damian at all when he told him they couldn’t be friends anymore. He wouldn’t cry when he heard the words ‘I never want to see you again.’ He’d just be happy his mistake hadn’t cost his best friend his life and he’d try his hardest not to make another one.

He couldn’t seem to stop making mistakes. He knew much of what he was feeling was self-pity, but he felt like he needed to beat himself up over how things had happened. He’d let it get that far, and no one seemed to be punishing him for it. If they wouldn’t do it, he’d do it himself.

He pressed himself closer to the wall he’d slumped against and tried not to cry. Titus shifted and licked his cheek. Jon pushed the dog’s face away gently. He was really hoping his dad would do the talking and then take Jon home. That way he didn’t actually have to see Damian’s face get angry at Jon, or hear him tell him what he already knew.

His hopes, however, were dashed when Dick walked over to him and knelt by where he was curled into himself. If he wasn’t trying to be as invisible as possible he might think he looked a little pathetic. But the thought of facing Damian was too much. At the same time, he couldn’t just feel the room. This was the best alternative.

“Damian’s up.” he said.

“That’s good.” Jon muttered.

“He’s asking for you.”

Jon pulled his legs closer to his chest.

“Jon, please. He’s really worried. I don’t think I can get him to rest anymore if he doesn’t see you.”

He peeked over his knees. “He’s not mad?”

Dick smiled at him. “Nope. He wanted me to tell you he’s sorry.”

Now Jon’s head shot all the way up, his legs slipping forward. “What?”

Dick’s smiled widened. “He thinks this is his fault, and he’s worried you’re mad at him.”

“But, it’s my fault.” Jon said. “I dumped the ooze on him, and dragged him off to the woods, and let everything happen. He can’t think it’s his fault. He only tried to help.”

Dick raised an eyebrow at him. “Maybe you should tell him that.”

He let Dick help him stand and lead him over to Damian’s cot. As much as he wanted to set his friend right and tell him how this was his fault and not Damian’s, he couldn’t even imagine looking him in the eye. He decided to have a staring contest with the floor instead.

When they stopped Dick put his hand on his back and kept his voice gentle. “It’s okay, Jon. Go ahead, talk to him.” he said before letting go and walking away.

Jon dug his fingers into his pants and refused to look up. His throat was thick with regret.

“Jon.” There was something pleading in Damian’s voice that made him look up.

His friend’s cheeks were stained with tears, which only made the one’s Jon was trying hard to hold back slip out instead.

“I’m so sorry, Damian.” He sobbed. “I know you told your brother you weren’t mad just so you could talk to me, and you probably hate me. But it’s okay I understand. I screwed up really bad, and I won’t be mad if you never want to see me again, I’m just so sorry.”

“Jon, stop it.”

Even exhausted Damian’s snap brought him to attention. He was glaring at Jon, though it didn’t seem to be the kind directed at anything specific, but one of his angry at the world glares.

“Sorry.” He mumbled.

His friend sighed. “It’s not your fault. Grayson doesn’t believe it is mine either but--”

“It’s not.” Jon interrupted.

The glare pointed at him and he snapped his mouth shut.

“But,” Damian continued, “I am inclined to disagree. And, as much as we will both argue over the blame, know that I am not mad at you. You were not in full control of your actions, and neither of us realized the implications associated with Black’s ooze.”

Jon sniffed. “You don’t hate me?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“I’m not mad at you either, just so you know.” He added, feeling like it needed to be said.

Damian smiled. “I came to that conclusion the moment you started blubbering.”

He felt his face heat up with a blush. “I was sure you hated me.” He snapped. “I mean, I got you possessed. If anything’s rights for banishment that’s it.”

His friend laughed, but it broke off with a wince as his hand went to his head. “Don’t make me do that, my head still hurts too much.”

Guilt shot through Jon again, scaring off the better mood he’d been inching his way towards. “Sorry.” He said again, this time his friend simply rolled his eyes at him.

“Grayson says sleep will help, as if I haven’t had enough yet.” He grumbled.

“My dad said you were so worn out it was like you’d been up for days.” Jon told him.

“Tt.” Damian said. “I feel like I’ve been up for days.”

Jon gave him a guilty smile. “Sorry.”

“Jon, if you apologize one more time I will be forced to denounce you as my friend. Every reiteration of the word is making my head hurt worse.” Damian told him.

“Sor—I mean alright.” Jon said. “You gonna sleep now?”

“If I must.” Damian sighed.

Jon grinned at him. “It’ll help, and after you’re better we can try to have a normal patrol. Neither of us got grounded this time.”

Damian returned the smile. “I think we should stop trying, it seems to be bad luck. Let’s just attempt to make it through the next one uninjured and work our way up from there.”

Jon chuckled. “I think that will work, and who knows? Maybe we’ll break our track record and have a really good night of crime fighting for once.”


	16. Chapter 16

“So, you really don't remember any of it?”

Damian shot Jon a look as he pulled a green boot onto his foot, yanking the laces to tighten it.

“I remember little from after _you_ poured ooze on me.” he said.

Jon deserved that rib, Damian had been good enough not to guilt him on purpose during his recovery, and he’d had plenty of opportunities to do otherwise. Both Jon and Damian had been stuck at the manor for almost a week. It wasn’t a grounding, but more of a waiting period to make sure both were healed and free of any foreign influences. 

What it had really done was give them plenty of time to talk things out. No matter what Jon had said or done, Damian had been firm on his statement that he didn’t blame him. Still, they’d spent about half their time arguing over who could take the blame for the mess.

“That’s good then.” Jon nodded, adjusting his own cape. “I was worried you might remember after you’d recovered.”

“Tt.” Damian pulled the other boot on. “I have been recovered for days. It’s Father’s overbearing need to be sure that’s kept us here instead of doing good elsewhere.”

He tied the laces, leaving their red color flopping against the green and stood to stretch. Jon handed him one glove at a time to pull on.

He paused, tugging the second one into place. “Why are you so worried about it?”

Jon shrugged. “You shouldn’t have to remember it. Black was--” he broke off unsure how to word it.

“Cruel?” Damian supplied.

He nodded. “Yeah. What he said and did wasn’t you, and I don’t want you worried that you could have done anything else.”

His friend sighed and sat on the bench next to him. “We have discussed this. I thought we’d decided to let the blame fall aside and move on?”

Jon’s face heated up. “We did, I just worry.”

Damian grinned. “Wasn’t it worrying that put us in this place?”

“I thought you were going to be nice about this.” Jon grumbled, the guilt didn’t feel as pronounced this time since it had seemed to be a joke. Even so, Jon was rarely entirely sure with Damian, especially when it had to do with jokes.

When he’d suggested they attempt to play a prank on one of his brothers, Tim ,as revenge for the dye pack that had ruined Damian’s pajamas, Jon hadn’t been sure what to think. He’d been so serious, a plan already ready to be utilized, and had that eager glint in his eye Jon knew meant trouble it had been hard to think of it as anything but the truth. But Jon had still been wary, worried about messing things up further between them.

Jon had said something like: ‘but I haven’t even met him yet’ and Damian rolled his eyes and told him that was the point, that his brother would never suspect a prank from a kid he didn’t know.

He’d gone along with it, alternatively having fun and worrying that Damian was actually getting revenge on Jon himself, finally going after him about everything that had happened. The whole time Jon distracted Tim by chatting with him (who turned out to be pretty cool) he worried he was going to be outed. Even as Damian gave him a thumbs up after switching Tim’s coffee with warm water colored with food dye he was still a little worried.

After, when they were laughing in Damian’s room over Tim’s perplexed face when he’d drank the coffee, and the brownish coffee mustache the dye had left over, Jon realized it had been Damian’s way of making up. Bonding through trouble, and his own way of telling Jon in no uncertain terms that they were still partners.

Damian gave him a toothy grin. “I never made such a promise. If I did I was too tired to remember.”

“It was the other day!” Jon said.

His friend shrugged and stood again. “By my Father’s standard ‘the other day’ I was still and invalid.”

Jon jumped up to follow Damian over to his locker, “We were playing catch with Titus.”

“As I said, my Father--”

“Damian.” Jon leveled a look at him.

“Jon.” Damian raised an eyebrow.

Jon glared at him. “You’re doing this on purpose, picking on me. Stop.”

Damian let the locker door close and pulled his cape on. “The moment you stop blaming yourself I will. Until then, this is resistance training.”

Jon huffed, but let it go. He leaned against the other lockers and looked his friend over. “Are you ready to go yet?”

“I’m sorry my uniform is more than a jacket I bought at a store and the cape from my super dog.” Damian said, a little distracted as he checked the pockets of his utility belt. He looked up and sighed at Jon’s face. “I was kidding, Jon. Though you really may consider adding something to yours. Your invulnerability is still only intermittent. Some armor could help protect you.”

“Now who’s worrying?” Jon grinned.

“I am being practical.” Damian said, moving away from the lockers and back into the cave.

“Mmhm.” Jon said following. “Practical.”

“Boys.”

Both of them stopped and turned to find their dads waiting on them. Dick was leaning against the computer’s console and waved.

“Father.” Damian said. “You told me I could go out tonight.” His tone was defensive.

His dad nodded. “I’m not here to tell you not to go out tonight.”

Damian’s posture relaxed. “Excellent.”

“We just wanted to wish you both luck.” Clark said.

Dick pushed off the console and joined them. “And to let you know we’re here if you need anything, but we’ve decided you should just enjoy the night together.”

Jon had been worried they were going to try to babysit the two of them on patrol. To hear that he and Damian would get to be on their own was a relief. He wasn’t really nervous about going out, but he wasn’t sure how he’d do if he were under the pressure of his and Damian’s dad’s attention.

They were waved off with well wishes and smiles as they headed out. They took patrol easy, and didn’t jump into anything dangerous or stumble on much worse than an attempted mugging. Jon wanted to call it a night early and lock in their good luck but Damian insisted on staying out the full term of their shift.

“You’re not scared of a little trouble, are you, Superboy?” he asked with that cocky grin of his.

“I’m not if you aren’t.” Jon returned.

“Good.” Damian nodded. “There’s a possible robbery on East Central Avenue we should be able to make it to.”

“Want a ride?” Jon asked, holding out his hands.

Damian held up his grapple. “I’m good, thanks.”

There was a burst of air and sound as he was pulling up and off the roof, towards the fight, with Jon flying right beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who's made it this far in this fic, for reading and all your wonderful comments and everything. 
> 
> This started out as a way for me to release the stress of taking a summer class and kind of ended up turning into what you've just read. So from the beginning it was little more than a fun idea to explore and play with, and to see all the kind words and excitement I've gotten from you guys has been great. 
> 
> Thanks so much for taking this little journey with Jon, Damian, and I. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
